Chapter 2 Casualties of Telstra

In July 1992, Karen rang to tell me about a Melbourne restaurant suffering the same crippling phone problems I was experiencing.

I felt great comfort in hearing this and knew I needed to meet the owner. Making phone contact with the restaurant was, of course, difficult, but eventually, I got through to Sheila Hawkins, proprietor of The Society restaurant in Bourke Street, in the city centre. We arranged to meet, and I travelled to Melbourne in early August.

It was so good to talk to someone who experienced similar problems. And it soon became clear there were more of us. Sheila knew of Ann Garms, owner of the Tivoli Theatre Restaurant in Brisbane, who also suffered serious telephone problems. Back in Cape Bridgewater, I rang Ann to discover she was coming to Melbourne the following week to register her own complaints with Austel, the Australian Telecommunications Regulator. We arranged to meet with her and Sheila. I went into the city again for the meeting, where Ann mentioned another Brisbane business in similar trouble — a car parts company run by Maureen Gillen. Like Ann's business, Maureen's was trunked off the Fortitude Valley exchange. Sheila, meanwhile, had contacted Graham Schorer, who operated the Golden Courier Service out of North Melbourne — despite a very bad phone service.

Finally, our little group gathered at Sheila's restaurant in Bourke Street, except for Maureen, who couldn't make the journey from Brisbane. It was Sheila who suggested we call ourselves COT — Casualties of Telstra. This was one of her last actions with the group, as she withdrew shortly after due to ill health.

At the top of the list of problems we held in common were those three little words: 'No fault found.' It wasn't just that we all had to put up with ongoing service faults; Telstra's evasion of responsibility made those faults a nightmare. Telstra had a duty to provide us with service up to a recognised network standard, and by failing to 'find' their faults, they were effectively avoiding carrying out their statutory obligation.

In October 1992, COT had its first official meeting with Telstra at the Ibis Hotel in Melbourne. We were a united and optimistic group of small-business telephone users, on our way down the path to justice. We had no idea what a long haul we were in for. Indeed, this first meeting felt eminently successful. Telstra sent three executives who treated us courteously, and we felt that our claims were being taken seriously. We were regarded as a concerned group of small-business people who had been consistently ignored by Telstra. We asked Austel (the government regulator) to serve as the 'honest broker' in our matters, and the executives agreed. They took the documentary evidence we had brought, and at the end of the meeting, we left with the sense that it would all be resolved soon.

After that initial meeting, several meetings were held with Telstra and Austel. Graham Schorer, based in the city, served as the COT representative. Under pressure from Austel, Telstra acknowledged that faults existed, though it still held back from admitting the true scale of these faults—faults that we knew to be true and that, it later emerged, Telstra itself also knew to be true.

Guaranteed to network standard

Meanwhile, in July 1992, I was obliged to ask Telstra for a guarantee that my phone service was up to standard. A bus service wanted such a guarantee (in case of urgent communication needs) before it would contract to bring groups to the camp. Although I did not see how Telstra could guarantee such a thing on the basis of current performance, I thought a guarantee might be useful as leverage.

Not one but two guarantees eventually arrived, though both were too late to secure the contract with the bus company. The first stated that my phone service was indeed 'up to network standard':

Whilst our recent tests indicate that your service is now performing to normal network standards, I am initiating a further detailed study of all elements of your service and the tests conducted.

The second stated:

We believe that the quality of your service can be guaranteed, and although it would be impossible to suggest that there would never be a service problem, we could see no reason why this should be a factor in your business endeavours.

I need to jump ahead here to draw on material I did not have access to at the time, but which reveals what was going on in the telephone exchange while my business was sinking.

In 1994, we COT members were involved in arbitrations with Telstra. According to the rules of arbitration, Telstra had a legal obligation to provide us with relevant documents under the Freedom of Information Act. You will hear more about this in due course, not least about the unreasonable time it took for FOI document requests to be delivered (often years too late). Suffice it to say here that in a mid-1994 FOI release, I received documents referring to the general congestion problem at Cape Bridgewater.

The second paragraph of a document titled 'Subject PORTLAND – CAPE BRIDGEWATER PCM HBER' of 12 July 1991, was of particular interest:

When the 'A' direction of system 2 was initially tested, 11,000 errors per hour were measured. In the 'B' direction, approximately 216 errors per hour were measured; 72 errors per hour is the specified number allowable.

This level of error was, in fact, known as early as February 1990—the very time my complaints were being stonewalled. Yet, it was not acknowledged to me when I wrote this (July 1991). The problems continued even in the new exchange, as another document, titled 'Portland — Cape Bridgewater — RCM System', showed, referring to information logged in March 1993, long after Telstra had first reported these massive error rates:

Initial error counter readings, Portland to Cape Bridgewater direction:
	System 1	System 2	System 3
SES	0	0	0
DM	45993	3342	2
ES	65535	65535	87
At this stage we had no idea over what period of time these errors had accumulated.

The second page of this document explains why they "had no idea over what period of time these errors had accumulated":

The alarm system on all three RCM systems had not been programmed. This would have prevented any local alarms being extended back to Portland.

They didn't know how long these errors had been accumulating because the fault alarm system had been left unconnected since the new RCM exchange was installed at Cape Bridgewater on 18 August 1991. As this was an unmanned exchange, no one could know when faults occurred—except, of course, us poor, defenceless customers.

This means that, in September 1992, when Telstra management wrote to me guaranteeing the quality of my telephone service as being up to network standards, they had failed to realise that the alarm remained unconnected. Even the local telephone technicians were unaware of the call loss caused by the unconnected alarm system at the exchange. What kind of investigation into the faults I had reported over several years does this demonstrate? A farcical one. How, for several years, could they fail to notice that the alarm wasn't connected?

There comes a point in a long struggle when you stop asking why you are still fighting and start understanding what the fight has made you. It doesn't happen in a single moment; it happens slowly, quietly, in the background of your life—in the way you wake up, in the way you think, in the way you carry yourself. The battle becomes part of your identity, not because you wanted it, but because it shaped you in ways you could never have imagined.

By the time I reached this stage, the arbitration was years behind me, but its consequences were still unfolding. The truth had become my responsibility, the evidence my inheritance, and the silence of the institutions a constant reminder that justice—if it was ever going to come—would not come from them.

It would have to come from me.

In the early years, everything I did was about survival — surviving the lies, the gaslighting, the financial ruin, the collapse of my business, the isolation, the endless bureaucratic stonewalling. But somewhere along the way, the fight changed shape. It stopped being about what had been taken from me and became about what I refused to let be taken from others.

I realised that my story — painful as it was — had value beyond my own suffering. It was a warning. A blueprint. A record of what happens when a corporation becomes more powerful than the truth, when a regulator becomes more loyal to the entity it is meant to police than to the public it is meant to protect, when a government chooses convenience over accountability.

My story was no longer just mine.

It belonged to every Casualty of Telstra—ordinary Australian citizens silenced by this terrible giant. It belonged to every person who had been dismissed. Every person who had been told, "There's nothing wrong with your service," when the evidence said otherwise. Once I understood that, the fight became something else entirely: a purpose.

There is a moment in every long battle when you finally accept that no cavalry is coming. No minister will step in. No regulator will suddenly grow a conscience. No journalist will magically uncover the truth you've been shouting for years. No legal system will correct its own failures. You are on your own.

It's a sobering realisation, but it's also liberating. Because once you stop waiting for someone else to fix what was broken, you start doing the work yourself — not because you think you will win, but because you know the truth deserves to be told. That was the moment I stopped hoping for rescue and started building my own platform, my own archive, my own voice. That was the moment Absent Justice stopped being a website and became a mission.

When you carry a truth that powerful institutions want buried, you quickly learn who fears it. You learn it in the way people avoid your calls. In the way officials speak in rehearsed lines. In the way documents go missing. In the way, FOI requests come back with pages blacked out. In the way politicians suddenly "don't recall" conversations you remember vividly. You learn it in the way Telstra behaved—confident, dismissive, and certain that their version of events would prevail simply because they had the power to enforce it.

The early days of the campaign were marked not only by external battles but by a crushing sense of isolation. Friends, colleagues, and even family struggled to understand the depth of the fight or the cost it exacted. The silence from those who should have stood beside us was deafening. It was a loneliness born from being branded as troublemakers, whistleblowers, and agitators.

Every phone call unanswered, every meeting postponed or cancelled, every door closed in our faces was a reminder that the system was rigged against us. The betrayal was not just from Telstra or the regulators but from the very institutions meant to uphold justice and fairness.

The relentless pressure of fighting a giant took a severe toll on mental and physical health. Sleepless nights spent poring over documents, preparing submissions, and strategising next steps became the norm. The constant stress manifested in anxiety, depression, and a profound sense of vulnerability.

Many of us faced financial hardship as legal fees mounted, and livelihoods were threatened. The emotional exhaustion was compounded by the knowledge that our fight was not just for ourselves but for countless others who had suffered in silence.

Much of the struggle occurred out of public view. Behind closed doors, meetings with lawyers, strategists, and advocates were fraught with tension and uncertainty. Negotiations were often stalled or undermined by those with vested interests. The fight was as much about navigating a labyrinth of bureaucracy as it was about exposing the truth.

We faced intimidation tactics, misinformation campaigns, and deliberate attempts to discredit our voices. Yet, despite these obstacles, the resolve to keep pushing forward never wavered.

Amidst the hardship, a profound sense of solidarity emerged. Casualties of Telstra found strength in each other's stories and support in shared purpose. The campaign became a collective voice for the silenced, a beacon of hope for those still suffering.

This unity was a source of resilience, fueling the determination to expose the truth and demand accountability. It reminded us that while the fight was deeply personal, it was also profoundly communal.

Though the early days were marked by trauma and hardship, they laid the foundation for a movement that continues to grow. The fight for justice is far from over, but the lessons learned and the bonds forged have created a legacy of courage and resistance.

The Casualties of Telstra campaign stands as a testament to the power of truth, the necessity of perseverance, and the unyielding spirit of those who refuse to be silenced.

This narrative is not just a recounting of past horrors but a call to action — a reminder that the fight for justice is ongoing and that every voice matters.

The campaign has left an indelible mark on those involved and on the broader community. It has exposed systemic failures and challenged complacency. It has inspired new generations to question authority and to stand up against injustice.

The scars borne by the Casualties of Telstra are a testament to their courage and resilience. Their stories continue to resonate, reminding us all that the fight for truth is never easy but always necessary.

The fight has become a legacy — one that demands recognition, respect, and continued vigilance.

Despite the trauma and setbacks, the Casualties of Telstra embody an unyielding spirit. Their courage in the face of overwhelming odds is a beacon for others who face similar battles. They have transformed pain into power, silence into voice, and despair into determination.

Their journey is a testament to human resilience and the enduring pursuit of justice.

This story is not just a history lesson; it is a call to action. It urges all to stand with the Casualties of Telstra, to demand accountability, and to ensure that no one else suffers in silence. The fight continues, and every voice adds strength to the cause.

Together, we can turn the tide and build a future where truth and justice prevail.

A compensation deal

The formation of COT had come not a moment too soon for me. The frustration of struggling with problems that seemed immune to complaints, and about which I could only complain, could finally be shared. I had lost faith in my own judgment by then; I had let down two partners who had trusted me, and I was now borrowing from friends just to keep the camp running day to day. Throughout this period, the phone faults continued implacably.

The COT group continued to negotiate with Austel and Telstra, and in late 1992, our combined pressure finally produced results: Telstra approached me with a proposal for a compensation payout, which included a confidentiality agreement stating that I would not disclose the value of any resulting settlement. I signed this agreement on 11 December 1992 and have honoured my word not to disclose the payout amount without Telstra's prior approval.

That same day, I went to Telstra's city fault centre, where the area general manager and I began a long discussion regarding the extent of my financial losses over the four and a half years since my initial complaint about the phones. This manager and I were the only people involved in this discussion. I provided her with copies of numerous letters I had received from clients and tradespeople detailing their difficulties reaching me, and I explained how I had calculated the total of my losses.

On several occasions, the manager left me alone to examine the documents she had given me. On the first occasion, as she left, she explained she would close the door so I could read in private. She added that if I needed to discuss anything with my advisors, I was free to use the telephone; a direct outside line was available at all times, eliminating the need to speak to an operator within the building. I used the phone on a couple of occasions to call Karen and discuss the offer; together, we calculated how much I needed to repay her.

The documents provided by the manager were mostly handwritten and included copies of the so-called 'guarantees' I had received. According to one of the documents, there was only a 'single' fault, lasting only 'three weeks', that triggered the recorded message (RVA) stating my number was not connected. This document claimed that the RVA probably caused me to lose only about 50% of all incoming calls over this three-week period. Other documents referred to a minor fault in the phone exchange at Heywood, as well as to other minor faults that may have contributed to call loss. The manager told me that Telstra agreed to accept responsibility for these faults if I accepted their offer.

I protested, reiterating the ongoing complaints I was still receiving from customers. Her response was a simple 'take it or leave it': this was Telstra's last offer, she told me, and the only other avenue I could follow would be court proceedings. She concluded, 'Telstra has more time than you have money to fund court proceedings.' Reluctantly, but feeling I had no other choice, I accepted. My reluctance was well justified.

My first bundle of FOI documents from Telstra arrived in August 1993. Among them, astonishingly, was a Telstra minute dated 2 July 1992, which revealed that local Telstra technicians regarded my complaints about the 'service disconnected' RVA on my line as correct. Not only that, the observation was made that the problem 'is occurring in increasing numbers as more and more customers are connected ...' Senator Alston raised this document in Senate Estimates in February 1994, demanding a response from Austel. No response was forthcoming, and this revelation did not further my cause elsewhere.

FIG 1

Two years later, I received a copy of an FOI document titled 'Telecom Secret'.This was a copy of the notes the manager brought to the settlement meeting. The opening page, reproduced here, shows all too clearly that Telstra knew my case was solid. The manager had blatantly misled me into signing the settlement.

The document goes on to

state that 'Mr Smith's service problems were network related and spanned a period of 3–4 years,' and that 'Overall, Mr Smith's telephone service had suffered from poor grade of network performance over a period of several years; with some difficulty to detect exchange problems in the last 8 months.'

Despite my acceptance of the offer, I continued to experience faults in my phone service, particularly call drop-outs, where part-way through a conversation the line would simply go dead, and short-duration rings, where the phone would ring once or twice and then stop with no one there if we picked up the receiver. Finally, in October 1992, the area general manager arranged for two testing machines (called 'Elmi' machines) to be installed: one at the local Cape Bridgewater exchange and the other at my office.

On October 13, I reported four dropped calls—at 1:20, 1:40, 2:00, and 3:00—along with one instance of answering the phone to a dead line. Despite the Elmi machines, Telstra technicians found no detectable faults, as they had in so many instances before. What was going on?

It was two years before Telstra offered any elucidation, and even then, it proved unhelpful. In 1994, among a bundle of FOI documents I received, was a handwritten file note stating:

'We had the Elmi disconnected at the RCM and were installing it at Mr Smith's house, and the CCAS showed no evidence of above 1.20, 1.40, 2.00 and 3.00.'

This was simply not the case; I knew they were not installing it at my house at that time, as it was already installed. Consequently, I asked Telstra to provide its Elmi printouts for September and October 1992. Some weeks later, a number of documents arrived, including tapes showing that the call drop-outs and dead lines I had experienced appeared on Telstra's monitoring equipment (CCAS) records as answered calls at approximately 1:30 p.m. and 3:00 p.m.

I could not fathom why a local technician would state that the Elmi equipment was disconnected at the exchange and needed to be installed at my house, when these printouts clearly showed it was already installed and operating at both locations, albeit incorrectly. I could only assume this reflected deficiencies in Telstra's fault centres' competence, capacity, and the accuracy of its records and reporting. That thought alone was very worrying for someone reliant on telephone service.

I now began to suspect that there might not be a simple answer to the phone faults, just waiting to be discovered and fixed. It appeared the problems were endemic throughout the organisation and its infrastructure.

As I struggled through late 1992 into the New Year of 1993, I began to wonder if 'settling' with Telstra had been such a good idea. Nothing had changed. I had been forced to refinance, incurring more setup fees. Because I still couldn't afford to properly maintain the camp, the place looked decidedly abandoned. I felt as if I had been abandoned too. Both the buildings and I were tired, rundown, and in need of a facelift.

The other COT members were no better off. Maureen and Ann had also accepted settlements directly from Telstra, while Graham had his through the courts. For each of us, poor and faulty phone service continued unabated.

My only source of strength at this time came from my fellow COT members. One Saturday evening, a couple of Scotches left me in tears of complete frustration. I knew I could easily run the camp as I envisioned it, but instead I was trapped in a vicious cycle. Without customers, I would soon be completely broke, but the customers couldn't reach me because the phones didn't work. Just then, Graham Schorer rang, urging me to hang in there and convinced that we would win in the end.

Yes, some calls did get through, though in what proportion I shall never know. Perhaps the following story indicates the rate. In a moment of desperation, I decided to call Don Burnard, a clinical psychologist whom the COT members had contacted when we were first forming the group. Dr Burnard had written a report regarding our individual conditions, noting the breakdown in our psychological defences due to the excessive and prolonged pressures we endured:

All of these clients have been subjected to persistent environmental stress as a result of constant pressure in their business and erratic patterns of change in the functioning of their telephones, which were essential to the success of their businesses.

I called Dr Burnard for support, but my conversation with his receptionist was interrupted three times by phone faults. Later, I received a letter from his office, saying:

I am writing to you to confirm details of the telephone conversation difficulties experienced between this office and our residence mid-morning this day, 5 May 1993. At approximately 11.30 am today Mr Alan Smith telephoned this office requesting to speak with Don Burnard. Mr Burnard was not available to take his call. During this time the telephone cut out three times. Each time Mr Smith telephoned back to continue the call.

Ann Garms and Graham Schorer had, by now, become my 'comrades in arms' in this war we were fighting. We had many group discussions as we tried to find a way to address Telstra management's evasions and deceptions. But we were simply three small-business owners struggling against the might of a huge corporation. The odds were not encouraging! We wondered whether we could ever be in a position to expose Telstra's unethical corporate strategies and the continued, apparently deliberate mishandling of our complaints. Ann, like myself, had also begun to suspect that our phone lines were being bugged. I will return to this later, once we were able to provide evidence validating our concerns.

Early in 1993, Graham Schorer, acting as COT's spokesperson, met with Robin Davey, the chairman of Austel (the telecommunications industry regulator), to discuss our way forward. Austel was sympathetic to our situation. Austel recognized that we had been let down in our settlements and sought to establish a service standard against which Telstra's performance could be objectively measured in any future settlements.

Meanwhile, COT decided to inform the Australian Senate of our plight. We sent numerous submissions, supported by FOI documents, and followed up with visits to Canberra, financed from our already depleted pockets, to meet with sympathetic ministers.

By now, I had accumulated more than seventy letters from customers who had been unable to reach me by phone. This example, from a Year 7 coordinator at Hamilton High School (now Bainbridge College), who had brought his group along every February since 1990, is typical:

I wish to acknowledge in writing the repeated difficulty I have had contacting Alan Smith at the Cape Bridgewater convention centre by telephone. In the week March 1-5, I made five or six attempted phone calls to Alan but was unable to get through; indeed, the line was 'dead'. This was extremely frustrating, and had I not been aware of Alan's phone problems, I would have used another campsite.

Astonishingly, one letter, dated May 17, 1993, was from a senior Telstra technical engineer, who wrote about his own experience trying to reach me by phone:

On February 24, 1993, I received a phone call from a technician at Portland who stated he had been assigned a fault from the 1100 fault department, indicating a customer in Ballarat was having trouble calling your business at 055 267 267. I then attempted to call 055 267 267 myself. The call was 'tripped' after several bursts—that is, it appeared to be 'answered'—and I received a loud noise similar to a radio carrier noise, followed by a very faint 'Hello'.

At last, a second person inside Telstra acknowledged a problem with my phone service! The engineer had even given me his name. Yet, in defending my arbitration claims, Telstra submitted a Witness Statement from this man (made in December 1994) that made no reference to his experience (see Summary of Events/Chapters Two to Five).

Was the engineer pressured to stay quiet during my arbitration? I don't know. Certainly, not all Telstra engineers or technicians treated COT complaints in good faith. Another Telstra technician, despite experiencing major problems during his official fax testing process on October 29, 1993, nevertheless advised the arbitrator that I had no problems with that service. This was despite a Telstra document discussing these faults, noting:

During testing of the Mitsubishi fax machine, alarming patterns of behaviour were noted, affecting both transmission and reception. Even on calls that were not tampered with, the fax machine displayed signs of locking up and exhibited behaviour inconsistent with the relevant CCITT Group 3 fax rules.

In a similar incident, an FOI document concerning a complaint I lodged about my phone service bears a handwritten note that reads: 'No need to investigate, spoke with Bruce, he said not to investigate also.'

Where was this attitude coming from? If it came from higher management, it seemed an odd way to do business: exacerbating our problems would only lead to more complaints.

In the first five months of 1993, I received another eleven written complaints, including letters from the Children's Hospital and Prahran Secondary College in Melbourne. These faults had now plagued my business, unabated, from April 1988 to mid-1993.

By now, due to COT's pressure in Canberra, a number of politicians had become interested in our situation. The question was, would these politicians actually take any action on our behalf, or would they protect the 'milking cow' of the Telstra corporation?

In June 1993, the Shadow Minister for Communications, the Hon. Senator Richard Alston, expressed interest. He and Senator Ron Boswell of the National Party both pushed for a Senate Inquiry into our claims, and, as I was recently told by an ex-Telstra employee, they were very close to pulling it off. If this Senate Inquiry had got off the ground, heads in Telstra might have rolled; however, it didn't happen, and those same 'heads' continue to control Telstra to this day.

Even though Senator Boswell is based in Queensland and most remaining COT members are in Victoria, he has continued to offer his support. David Hawker MP, my local parliamentary member, also recognized his 'duty of care' to his constituents and answered our call for help. He took my claims seriously—indeed, he took the problem of poor phone service in his electorate seriously and was appalled at its extent. Mr Hawker sent me letters of support, put relevant people in touch with me, organised assistance for me, and has continued to go into battle on COT's behalf for ten years now.

Non-connecting calls

While the politicians tried to launch a Senate Inquiry, COT continued to lobby Austel for assistance. Yet another telephone issue was affecting my business. In February 1993, I installed a 1800 free-call number to encourage telephone business, and immediately experienced problems. Many calls to this number were not connecting; callers heard only silence and typically hung up. The business was thus potentially losing clients, and, to add insult to injury, I was being charged for these non-connecting calls. Even worse, in many instances, the caller heard a recorded Telstra announcement stating that the number wasn't connected. I first noticed this problem when people reported difficulties reaching me; after this, I carefully checked my bills.

According to Telstra's policy, customers are charged only for answered calls. Unanswered calls are not charged, and include:

... calls encountering engaged numbers (busy), various Telstra tones and recorded voice announcements as well as calls which 'ring out' or are terminated before or during ringing.

Between February and June 1993, I provided Austel with evidence of erroneous charging for unanswered calls on my 1800 service, a problem that persisted for at least another three years. John MacMahon, General Manager of Consumer Affairs at Austel, wanted a record of all non-connected calls and RVAs charged to my 1800 account. To provide that, I needed data from my local exchange.

Both Austel and the Commonwealth Ombudsman's Office were aware that I repeatedly requested the relevant data from Telstra, pursuant to FOI rules. Yet despite these institutions' involvement, Telstra continued to withhold the information. More than a decade later, I finally received some of the relevant information from Austel. By then, however, it was too late; the statute of limitations had long expired.

I did not understand then, nor do I understand now, why Austel, as the government regulator of the telecommunications industry, was unable to demand that data from Telstra.

By June 1993, I had established that Telstra was aware that the faulty billing in the 1800 system was a network problem from its inception.

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