Kate McClymont
Updated
One Friday afternoon, I was walking through the Bondi Westfield shopping centre when a man who was passing by looked at me intently before saying, “You’re that dreadful journalist who ruins people’s lives”. Most people who stop you in the street are really kind, so I was a trifle stunned by this man’s comment. And much to hissurprise – and to mine – I ran after him, demanding to know exactly what he meant.
What people? Whose life have I ruined? He looked slightly taken aback and then spat out, “Well, that ear, nose and throat surgeon, William Mooney, for one.”
Oh, I said, you mean the doctor whose negligence resulted in the deaths of two patients, neither of whom had known he had conditions placed on his practising certificate for alleged cocaine use, and who subsequently got busted buying cocaine while he was banned from practising?
That one?
Who else, I snapped?
He muttered that talking to me was worse than dealing with the mafia, and he fled.
Of course, that was far more civilised than other ways people have told me I have ruined their lives.
Back in the mid-1990s, I published a series of stories that became known as the Jockey Tapes scandal. I revealed that the Australian Federal Police were covertly taping a major drug dealer, Victor Spink, who was on the phone with several high-profile jockeys discussing race fixing.
I was at Randwick racecourse when one of those jockeys, Jim Cassidy, was informed of his three-year ban. Cassidy, in his shiny brown suit and sunglasses, took his cigarette from the corner of his mouth before he spat on my back. Well, given his size, the back of my knees, saying: “You effing bitch, you’ve ruined my life.”
Eloquence is not a quality often possessed by the people I write about. Shakespeare could have been describing them when he wrote: “Thou art a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of not one good quality.”
Which brings me to one of my all-time favourites: former Labor MP Eddie Obeid, the owner of not one good quality but the organiser of many schemes – most of them criminal.
In 2006, my former colleague Anne Davies and I were sued – successfully – I might add, by the now-jailed Eddie Obeid for suggesting he was corrupt. That was really a low point in my career. I thought at the time I could never write about this man again.
But I did. I could not turn a blind eye to the massive corruption in which he was involved. On one occasion I rang Eddie Obeid to put a question to him. This was his response: “I tell you what, you put one word out of place and I will take you on again. You are a lowlife. I will go for you, for the jugular.”
In parliament, Eddie Obeid said of me: “McClymont has been mixing with scum for so long that she no longer knows who is good and who is bad, what is real and what is made up. She has become the journalistic equivalent of a gun moll with glittering associations with the not-so-well-to-do.
“Despite this being well known, management of The Sydney Morning Herald continues to grant her prime, unscrutinised space,” he whined.
“How many more times must my sons and I take action in the courts to redress the damage this journalist has inflicted?” said Obeid, using parliamentary privilege.
On another occasion, the Obeids hired a private investigator to put me under surveillance. They wanted to find something over which to blackmail me.
And speaking of “most notable cowards”, look no further than Eddie Obeid’s son, Moses.
In February 2020, Eddie had already served a stint in the big house over the family’s secret cafe leases at Circular Quay, and now he was back facing another criminal trial over a rigged government tender process that delivered the family $30 million for a coal exploration licence at their farm in the Bylong Valley.
His co-accused were his son Moses and his Labor colleague, the former mining minister Ian Macdonald. On the first day of the trial, Moses Obeid set up a Twitter account under the pseudonym @Maardrix.
The profile photo was a wolf baring its teeth accompanied by the words: “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?” Even though Moses was a defendant in the case, and it was potentially a criminal offence, he set up a Twitter account to publicly ridicule the Crown’s case and its witnesses, one of whom he branded a “deceitful, brain-damaged liar”.
I could see him sitting in court using his mobile phone when the Tweets were posted. The account would comment when I came and went from the court. On one occasion, after a lengthy court adjournment, the account named me in a tweet that included a meme of a chair, which slowly swivelled around to reveal a seated dog. The caption reads: “I’ve been expecting you.”
On one occasion, just to double-check it was Moses’ number, I got someone from the office to ring Moses’ phone. I could see Moses checking it.
My colleague rang again just to be sure. At that point, Moses whispered to his legal team. His barrister got to his feet and asked the judge if she would mind excusing his client as he had “urgent business to attend to”.
I kept my head down.
This really was extraordinary. Here was Moses Obeid, the defendant in a major criminal trial, and he was using a social media account to intimidate witnesses, as well as running real-time vitriolic commentary on the prosecution’s case against him and his father.
Moses Obeid also used this Maardrix account to harass and threaten me, tweeting that I was “rotten to the core” and that I would pay for destroying the innocent Obeid family.
In what was most curious timing, within seconds of Justice Elizabeth Fullerton concluding that she was “satisfied beyond reasonable doubt” that each of the three men was guilty as charged, the Maardrix account Tweeted: “Account suspended … Query Appeal …”
The Maardrix account is no longer in use since the appeal failed, and Moses Obeid is now sharing a cell with dad Eddie in Kirkconnell Prison Farm, near Lithgow.
During one of the many ICAC inquiries into Eddie Obeid’s activities, one of Eddie’s sons-in-law raised his fist as though to punch me in the face. A reporter from The Australian stepped in to stop him. This man’s brother, who has bikie connections, threatened me via social media: “You effing ugly putrid smelly filthy red neck unprofessional pig – keep writing bullshit posts on Twitter and we’ll see how much longer u last u dog.”
Putrid smelly! I became very self-conscious about my personal hygiene, or lack thereof.
My anxiety about this only increased after an encounter with the son of organised crime figure “Teflon” Tony Vincent.
When his son Jamie Vincent arrived at court, 100 kilograms of muscle, a bullet head, leather jacket and dark glasses, I mentioned to our photographer that the Vincents were not particularly nice people, and they’d been accused of murdering people in the past. So if he was going to take a photo of Jamie Vincent, best not to get too close, I said, blithely heading off to get a coffee. I returned to find the photographer ashen-faced and shaking.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Jamie Vincent came over to the photographer and, leaning within inches of his face, said, “If you publish any photos of me, I will come after you, I will track you down, and I will get you.”
“Listen, mate, I am just doing my job. Don’t shoot the messenger,” said the photographer.
“But I will shoot the messenger,” said Vincent.
At this point, I marched over to old bullet-head, who was standing in the queue waiting to go through the court’s security check. “How dare you threaten my photographer!” I snapped.
Of course, Vincent denied that he had done any such thing.
I said, “Well, there are plenty of witnesses who heard you threaten him.”
“Listen, you stinking ugly old hag, why don’t you piss off!” snarled Vincent.
I was momentarily speechless. “Ugly, old hag” – well, I may have seen better days – but the horrid suggestion that I was stinky!
The next day we ran Jamie Vincent’s photo (without the photographer’s byline) and I included his threats to the photographer in the story. I always think we should call out bad behaviour. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
As journalists, we have a duty to stay the course, no matter how long it takes. Even if you are afraid, you can’t let on because for democracy to flourish, for the powerful to be held to account, journalists have to stand up and be counted.
As journalists, we hold up a mirror to society – and sometimes, society does not like what we show it.
Our job is to act without fear or favour, to expose bullshit when we see it. Sometimes, this comes at a great personal price: the powerful in society don’t like being called out or exposed for their bad behaviour. But this is why we are journalists, and this is why it is so important for society that we do what we do.
The whole notion of having a free and fearless press means that you have to put your money where your mouth is.
And that is something I would encourage all you young women here tonight to do. Hold the door open for others, believe in yourself, and back yourself. If you have the courage of your convictions, you will inspire those around you to come with you. And courage is a very powerful force.
