John Pilger writes about the forgotten Coup

The forgotten coup – how America and Britain crushed the government of their ‘ally’, Australia

23 October 2014

whitlam1.jpg

Across the political and media elite in Australia, a silence has descended on the memory of the great, reforming prime minister Gough Whitlam, who has died. His achievements are recognised, if grudgingly, his mistakes noted in false sorrow. But a critical reason for his extraordinary political demise will, they hope, be buried with him.

 

Australia briefly became an independent state during the Whitlam years, 1972-75. An American commentator wrote that no country had “reversed its posture in international affairs so totally without going through a domestic revolution”. Whitlam ended his nation’s colonial servility. He abolished Royal patronage, moved Australia towards the Non-Aligned Movement, supported “zones of peace” and opposed nuclear weapons testing.

 

Although not regarded as on the left of the Labor Party, Whitlam was a maverick social democrat of principle, pride and propriety. He believed that a foreign power should not control his country’s resources and dictate its economic and foreign policies. He proposed to “buy back the farm”. In drafting the first Aboriginal lands rights legislation, his government raised the ghost of the greatest land grab in human history, Britain’s colonisation of Australia, and the question of who owned the island-continent’s vast natural wealth.

 

Latin Americans will recognise the audacity and danger of this “breaking free” in a country whose establishment was welded to great, external power. Australians had served every British imperial adventure since the Boxer rebellion was crushed in China. In the 1960s, Australia pleaded to join the US in its invasion of Vietnam, then provided “black teams” to be run by the CIA. US diplomatic cables published last year by WikiLeaks disclose the names of leading figures in both main parties, including a future prime minister and foreign minister, as Washington’s informants during the Whitlam years.

 

Whitlam knew the risk he was taking. The day after his election, he ordered that his staff should not be “vetted or harassed” by the Australian security organisation, ASIO – then, as now, tied to Anglo-American intelligence. When his ministers publicly condemned the US bombing of Vietnam as “corrupt and barbaric”, a CIA station officer in Saigon said: “We were told the Australians might as well be regarded as North Vietnamese collaborators.”

 

Whitlam demanded to know if and why the CIA was running a spy base at Pine Gap near Alice Springs, a giant vacuum cleaner which, as Edward Snowden revealed recently, allows the US to spy on everyone. “Try to screw us or bounce us,” the prime minister warned the US ambassador, “[and Pine Gap] will become a matter of contention”.

 

Victor Marchetti, the CIA officer who had helped set up Pine Gap, later told me, “This threat to close Pine Gap caused apoplexy in the White House… a kind of Chile [coup] was set in motion.”

 

Pine Gap’s top-secret messages were de-coded by a CIA contractor, TRW. One of the de-coders was Christopher Boyce, a young man troubled by the “deception and betrayal of an ally”. Boyce revealed that the CIA had infiltrated the Australian political and trade union elite and referred to the Governor-General of Australia, Sir John Kerr, as “our man Kerr”.

 

Kerr was not only the Queen’s man, he had long-standing ties to Anglo-American intelligence. He was an enthusiastic member of the Australian Association for Cultural Freedom, described by Jonathan Kwitny of the Wall Street Journal in his book, ‘The Crimes of Patriots’, as, “an elite, invitation-only group… exposed in Congress as being founded, funded and generally run by the CIA”. The CIA “paid for Kerr’s travel, built his prestige… Kerr continued to go to the CIA for money”.

 

When Whitlam was re-elected for a second term, in 1974, the White House sent Marshall Green to Canberra as ambassador. Green was an imperious, sinister figure who worked in the shadows of America’s “deep state”. Known as the “coupmaster”, he had played a central role in the 1965 coup against President Sukarno in Indonesia – which cost up to a million lives. One of his first speeches in Australia was to the Australian Institute of Directors – described by an alarmed member of the audience as “an incitement to the country’s business leaders to rise against the government”.

 

The Americans and British worked together. In 1975, Whitlam discovered that Britain’s MI6 was operating against his government. “The Brits were actually decoding secret messages coming into my foreign affairs office,” he said later. One of his ministers, Clyde Cameron, told me, “We knew MI6 was bugging Cabinet meetings for the Americans.” In the 1980s, senior CIA officers revealed that the “Whitlam problem” had been discussed “with urgency” by the CIA’s director, William Colby, and the head of MI6, Sir Maurice Oldfield. A deputy director of the CIA said: “Kerr did what he was told to do.”

 

On 10 November, 1975, Whitlam was shown a top secret telex message sourced to Theodore Shackley, the notorious head of the CIA’s East Asia Division, who had helped run the coup against Salvador Allende in Chile two years earlier.

 

Shackley’s message was read to Whitlam. It said that the prime minister of Australia was a security risk in his own country. The day before, Kerr had visited the headquarters of the Defence Signals Directorate, Australia’s NSA where he was briefed on the “security crisis”.

 

On 11 November – the day Whitlam was to inform Parliament about the secret CIA presence in Australia – he was summoned by Kerr. Invoking archaic vice-regal “reserve powers”, Kerr sacked the democratically elected prime minister. The “Whitlam problem” was solved, and Australian politics never recovered, nor the nation its true independence.

 

Follow John Pilger on Twitter @johnpilger and Facebook – www.facebook.com/pilgerwebsite

Whitlam played by the Rules . . . .

Whitlam: a loyal servant of a system which failed him

Posted Mon at 3:08pmMon 27 Oct 2014, 3:08pm

Gough Whitlam played by the rules and was smashed – leaving his office to his enemies, but with his consistency, conviction and integrity untarnished, writes Mungo MacCallum.

As numerous eye-glazing speeches could attest, Gough Whitlam had a great love for the constitution and the Parliament. Like his friend and sparring partner James Killen, Whitlam had a respect bordering on reverence for the forms and practices of the Australian version of Westminster.

This did not mean that he believed them to be unchangeable, set in stone; indeed, much of his working life was spent in trying to modify and reform them when he felt it necessary.

But he always did so within the accepted boundaries: Whitlam, while he could be a radical when it came to policy, was always a gradualist – a Fabian – when it came to process. He believed in referendum, not revolution. He assiduously followed the rules, both in the letter and the spirit.

But his opponents were not so scrupulous, and that was what ultimately destroyed him and his government. From the moment the Labor administration was elected, the conservatives determined to do whatever it would take to bring it down. After 23 years, they regarded their rejection as an affront, an aberration; the natural law – their law – must be restored.

And any excuse would do; if Whitlam employed tactics and strategy to achieve his aims, the coalition leaders cried foul and went feral. Thus in 1974, Whitlam and his colleagues devised a scheme to take control of the Senate by persuading a sitting DLP senator, Vince Gair, to resign and take up a diplomatic post.

This was certainly unusual, even sneaky, but it was entirely legitimate. However, the then Liberal leader Billy Snedden took the unprecedented step of forcing an election by using his Senate numbers to block the budget. Of course, budget measures were and are regularly postponed and rejected, as the current administration knows all too well. But this was not a routine measure: the coalition withheld what is known as the supply bills, the money appropriated for the day-to-day working of government especially in paying the public service.

This was seen an outrageous breach of convention, never before seriously contemplated, let alone implemented. In 1967, the Labor Senate leader Lionel Murphy had mooted the idea to Whitlam, who summarily dismissed it as unthinkable. But the coalition took the plunge not once but twice: in 1975 Malcolm Fraser devised an encore.

He was only able to do so by another egregious breach. When the Queensland Labor senator Bert Millner died in office, testate premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen replaced him not with another Labor nominee, but with an opponent, the risible Patrick Albert Field. Once again, this had not happened since Federation; replacements within the same party had always been automatic, and indeed have now become so by law.

But Field, with instructions to oppose Labor without question or hesitation, gave Fraser the numbers he needed. His trigger was the sacking of a senior minister, Rex Connor, over what was known as the Loans Affair. This had entailed an attempt to build massive infrastructure by securing petro dollar funds from the Arabs through unconventional sources.

Once again, this was unusual, and in the end reckless, even foolhardy; but in spite of what was later alleged, it was in no sense illegitimate. The relevant decisions, albeit in secret, were signed through the Executive Council of Cabinet. But the whole thing went wrong, and eventually Whitlam removed the commission of Connor, as Minister for Minerals and Energy, to end negotiations.

However, Connor persisted, still searching for the fairy tale millions. The Australian’s foreign editor, Greg Sheridan, in a series of graceless articles immediately after Whitlam’s death, suggested that Whitlam had in fact given Connor a wink: if the money could still be secured, all would be forgiven. At the time Sheridan was fomenting DLD conspiracies in student politics. I was on the spot in Canberra and from my first-hand knowledge can testify that this was not true: when Whitlam found out he was incandescent.

But in any case, Sheridan’s fantasy misses the point: Connor was dismissed, not for pursuing the loan, but for misleading Parliament – the same crime that had undone the hapless Jim Cairns. For Whitlam, this was the unforgiveable sin: he knew sacking Connor would bring dire political consequences, but he felt he had no choice: Parliament was supreme. To a normal observer Whitlam deserved praise for his adherence to principle, but for Fraser it was what he called an extraordinary and reprehensible circumstance, and pulled the trigger: which brings us to the governor-general, Sir John Kerr.

Whitlam was confident that Kerr would remain on side not because he was weak (which he was, as Fraser has since confirmed) but because he was bound to follow the advice of his ministers. This, after all, was the convention observed by the British monarch – Kerr’s superior — for centuries. But Kerr had already broken ranks: he had taken counsel and encouragement from the Chief Justice and former Liberal attorney-general Garfield Barwick, who was also the cousin of Fraser’s own shadow attorney, Robert Ellicott.

So Fraser was prepared: Fraser was lurking when Whitlam saw Kerr to tender his advice to call a half-Senate election, and when Kerr refused and Whitlam indignantly knocked back Kerr’s demand for an election for the House of Representatives, Kerr dismissed him. Whitlam’s immediate (and conventional) response was that he would go to the Queen: Kerr replied that he had already terminated his commission and produced the document. Rather than throw it in his face, as his feisty wife Margaret later suggested, he meekly concurred: to the last he followed the rules.

Kerr did not: when later the Speaker of the House, Gordon Scholes, went to inform him that the Parliament had voted confidence in Whitlam, Kerr refused to see him, an act of authoritarianism not seen since the days of King Charles I. This was indeed, as Whitlam called it, a coup, a putsch. But maintaining his loyalty to the system that had failed him, he stood stony faced as the viceroy’s aide-de-camp shut down Parliament and set him up for an election he knew he was doomed to lose: if Kerr, the Governor-General he had appointed, had dismissed him, the voters would believe he had done something unforgivable. They didn’t know what it was, but that didn’t matter. It was all over.

So Whitlam played by the rules and was smashed – leaving his office to his enemies, but with his consistency, conviction and integrity untarnished. They don’t make them like that any more.

Mungo Wentworth MacCallum is a political journalist and commentator. View his full profile here.

Topics: federal-government