by Larry Writer
Laborites Tom and Janet Ryan were caught up in the ruckus, she as a protester. Recalls Tom’s brother John Ryan, ‘[Tom] was filming the events, not so much to record what was going on but to test a new movie camera he had just bought. He, not she, was arrested and was in a cell with a mad anarchist who set fire to the mattress. Tom thought he was going to die, but the screws arrived in the nick of time.’
Meredith Burgmann and other AAM members did not attempt to run onto the field that day, because, they later said, after what they’d experienced at the Springbok–Sydney match, they were afraid of being assaulted even more violently than before and dragged through barbed wire by the police. In their bus after the game, heading back to the Squire Inn, the Springboks sang ‘For They Are Jolly Good Fellows’ in tribute to the New South Wales Police.
Former SADAF leader Edward St John, now acting president of the Australian section of the International Commission of Jurists (ICJ), would report on proceedings at the match. The ICJ accepted that ‘large numbers of police at matches in Sydney had removed their identification badges … This is most reprehensible conduct and steps should be taken to prevent any repetition of it. Bland denials that these things happened can no longer be believed.’ Similarly, cases of the police hindering the use of cameras and preventing interviews had seriously interfered with the right of the freedom of the press and the right of the public to be fully informed. St John added, ‘There is little doubt that on a number of occasions a significant number of police stood by while rugby supporters assaulted demonstrators.’
In winning the match against New South Wales, a team with a proud tradition of beating visiting sides, the Springboks rang even louder alarm bells for the Wallabies. It had been no dour tussle this time but a superb exhibition of running rugby union, to which the state team, with champions John Hipwell, Peter Sullivan, Rod Batterham, Dave Burnet, Owen Butler, and Rupert Rosenblum, had no answer. Before 27,402 people, the Springboks won 25–3. Winger Hannes Viljoen scored three tries, breakaway Jan Ellis was irresistible in attack and defence, and rookie lock Morne du Plessis scored one of the best tries in rugby history after fullback Ian McCallum leapt to stop a New South Wales kick from finding touch metres from his own line and took off upfield: McCallum passed to a teammate and the ball sped through many sets of hands until du Plessis, oblivious to the smoke flares and the grappling demonstrators and police and the detritus littering the field, plunged over in the diagonal corner from where McCallum had started the movement. Even the police whose job it was to face the grandstands and eyeball the protesters turned to gaze at the execution of this wonderful try.
Charles Perkins, the prominent Aboriginal activist whose counsel was sought back in 1969 by Anthony Abrahams before he toured South Africa with the Wallabies, had attended the Springboks–New South Wales fixture, much to his disgust. Perkins was furious at the taunts from racists in his vicinity and by the brutality of rugby vigilantes. Fired up, he put pen to paper:
I am an Aboriginal Australian employed in a responsible position in the Commonwealth Office of Aboriginal Affairs at Canberra. Throughout my life I have been proud of my ancestry and have been a keen participant in sporting activities. In fact, I have played 20 years of first-grade soccer, often against international and interstate teams. I wish to comment on an incident which took place in Sydney during the match between South Africa and New South Wales recently.
On this particular occasion a group of Aboriginals, including myself, decided to attend the game merely as spectators. We are obviously not supporters of apartheid, but felt it necessary that we should get some impression of the atmosphere at these games. We were absolutely amazed at some of the incidents we witnessed. These were:
1. The vicious and deep-seated racial intolerance and hatred displayed by the overwhelming majority of rugby union supporters in the section of the crowd where we stood. The demonstrators were merely the catalyst (or the excuse) for this expression of racial hatred, which was horrible to witness. There seems justification for the claim that rugby union creates animals — and not sportsmen or gentlemen. To the rugby supporter the continuation of the game justifies the existence of slavery and deprivation of personal freedoms — in fact, anything goes providing the game goes on uninterrupted.
2. The action of rugby union vigilantes, or self-elected strong-arm groups that were intent upon doing physical damage to anyone who dared challenge apartheid or the playing of rugby union. I saw these ‘sportsmen’ of doubtful courage throw cans of beer and other hard objects into crowds of young people — not all of them demonstrators. It was disgraceful behaviour, and does not say much for the game of rugby union.
3. And finally, as we Aboriginals were leaving the ground before the game concluded, to escape the rush of the crowd, several sections of the crowd saw us and began hurling abuse. We were called ‘dirty niggers’ and ‘black bastards’ and told to ‘go to Africa where we belong.’ The name-calling was serious and upset us very much. We were challenged on numerous occasions to fight, and people continued to use filthy language against us for no other reason than that we were Aboriginals. We were absolutely disgusted with our fellow Australians.
I really thought white people in this country and Aboriginals had come closer together over the past 10 years. In fact, racial intolerance is still rampant but seems more sophisticated and deep-seated. If the rest of Australia thinks and behaves similar to most rugby union supporters, then we have no future but one of unhappy race relations. My plea is that we should not relive recent terrible American racial experiences. We have a wonderful opportunity to create the good society and I feel such an opportunity should not be ignored.
For the Springboks’ part, there is no doubt that, in their rugby and personal conduct on tour, they were beyond reproach. They were courteous and played wonderful football in an atmosphere as rancorous as had ever been experienced by any touring team in any sport.
The words of the Springboks after the New South Wales match reflect their resolve. ‘When the smoke bombs came onto the field, we had to cut ourselves completely off from it and get on with the game,’ said Hannes Marais. ‘It wasn’t that hard to do. You really feel proud when you run out there, you know everybody in South Africa knows about the game and they’re thinking about you and wanting you to do well. Being a Springbok rugby player is a great responsibility, really. You play to win and that’s it. Your mind is trained to win, that’s why we came here, to play rugby and to win.’ Ian McCallum, who scored that memorable try, revealed that in the midst of the rioting the Springbok strategy was to gather in a group, banish the demonstrators from their minds, and focus on the game. ‘We chat about the mistakes we’ve made and how we can do better. The demonstrations make you concentrate a lot harder. You vow to each other that nothing will stop us doing our best and making our country proud.’
While the South African players maintained their dignity in public, they were men light years from their comfort zone. It was only while playing rugby that they were truly at ease, in their element. Steely men who lived for their sport, their rugby skills clicked into gear for the 80 minutes of the game, and this was certainly the case in the match against New South Wales.
The Brisbane Courier-Mail published a cartoon by ‘McRae’ lampooning the Sydney demonstrators. In it, three long-haired and bearded protesters are attacking a Springbok player with, variously, a piece of wood with a nail protruding from it, a broken bottle, and an evil-looking knife, and one protester is saying, ‘Nothing against you personally, mind. We’re just opposed to your Government’s vicious, violent policies.’ Heavy-handed, yes, but the cartoon struck a chord with many Australians at this stage of the Springbok tour.
McRae’s point, that demonstrators’ willingness to push protest to the limit was alienating middle Australia, was made in more sombre fashion by The Canberra Times: ‘The fact that the tactics so far employed by some of the anti-apartheid groups to get support have stimu
lated sympathy for the visiting footballers, for South Africa and possibly by inference for apartheid itself, is a severe indictment of their ineptitude.’
Yet according to Meredith Burgmann, there was method in the maddies’ madness. ‘I don’t resile from the fact that we sparked divisiveness in the community,’ says Burgmann. ‘We felt passionate about what we were doing, as did our opponents. There was a lot of emotion. In Australia, sport is a religion — perhaps only in South Africa is sport taken so deadly seriously. People were far more angry that we were disrupting their football matches than they were about the Vietnam War. I was a veteran of Vietnam moratoriums and they were no place for the faint of heart, but never did I encounter the naked hatred that I saw from police and rugby supporters during the Springbok tour. We were punched and kicked and spat on, had our glasses broken and hair pulled out. Cars were driven at us, we were attacked with umbrellas, had our leaflets knocked from our hands. We were called vile names.
‘Yet the AAM’s militancy created an environment in which the establishment, the politicians, the sporting authorities went to the table to thrash out the issue of apartheid with the serious people of CARIS. The participation of such decent and well-respected men as Jim Boyce, Anthony Abrahams, James Roxburgh, Paul Darveniza, Bruce Taafe, Barry McDonald, and Terry Forman was so vital, because people thought, “Well, if these great guys are unhappy with apartheid then there must be something seriously wrong with that system. Maybe I should be opposing it, too.”’
CHAPTER 16
INTERLUDE IN ORANGE
When the Springboks landed in Orange, 260 kilometres west of Sydney, on 11 July, for a four-day stay that included a midweek match against New South Wales Country on 14 July at Wade Park, they found no demonstrators at the airport. In their place were several hundred rugby fans to cheer them and shake their hands. The tourists surely pinched themselves. Orange must have seemed another planet. What’s more, in Orange, because pubs, clubs, and restaurants were refusing to obey a Liquor Trades Union directive not to serve the footballers, the players could get a drink and a bite to eat in public. And because the anti-apartheid movement held little sway in conservative Orange at that time, and most of the Sydney-based campaigners were yet to arrive, they could walk the streets of the lovely country town without being targeted.
Nevertheless, police kept constant watch on Wade Park, where the game would be played. Although anti-apartheid people were few and far between, a week before some had crept onto the ground on a freezing full-moon night and painted ‘Go Home Racists’ on the grandstand. The words ‘No Ties With Apartheid’ were etched on the playing field with weed killer, and the wooden goalposts were hacksawed down. The culprits included Meredith Burgmann and Denis Freney.
The original plan was for the players to stay at the Duntryleague country club, but, after Wade Park was defaced, club members feared that demonstrators might also vandalise the golf course, so it was decided that the players be billeted, and in the homes of these country people they were treated like kings. Orange was turning out to be an oasis of calm and good times for the tourists. They were feted wherever they went. A highlight was a barbecue at Nandillyan Heights, a sheep and wheat-growing property, where they devoured large quantities of chops and sausages and sampled the best local wines and beer.
Anglican minister Bill Rich’s Sunday sermon was also welcoming. ‘Racism denies the heart of the Gospel, and we have prayed for the forgiveness of our indifference to the existence of racial prejudice. However, unless I accept these men who are visitors, I am making a farce and mockery of what I stand for, love and tolerance.’
Hannes Marais missed out on the Orange hospitality to remain in Sydney to appear on Channel 9’s Meet the Press news and current-affairs panel show. Fellow guests were Charles Blunt and Jim Boyce. The interviewers were the show’s producer King Watson and reporter Bob Bottom, and the moderator was the veteran conservative journalist David McNicoll. Debate was civil. Marais, after telling viewers that the demonstrations against them had brought his team closer together, said he had always been happy to play rugby with and against non-whites, and had in fact done so in the games celebrating the centenary of English rugby and against Maoris in New Zealand. If his country’s policies changed, he would have no problem playing against blacks in South Africa, but the law was the law and he was not going to say more for fear of being misquoted. Boyce offered that while CARIS’s policy was to stage peaceful protest meetings outside the ground, he did not object to more militant protesters running onto the field to halt the game. What he would never condone was ‘the bomb throwing and the lead-filled bungers. I think that is a disgraceful thing and can only act against the very cause demonstrators are trying to achieve.’ Answering King Watson’s question, Jim Boyce explained that the airfares to Australia of Bishop Crowther and Peter Hain had been paid for by university students; bail money for those arrested was provided by student and public donations and the churches. Recalls Boyce, ‘Blunt kept saying that Australia and South Africa … were peas in a pod, and he hoped that Australian opposition to apartheid didn’t come between us. My mantra was that most Australians did not know how sport was manipulated by the masters of apartheid.’
To avoid looking like the radical he feared he’d be painted by his fellow panellists, Boyce wore an ultra-conservative pinstriped suit he’d bought at upmarket department store Harrods in London, a rugby-club tie, and a white shirt. His hair was short. At one point, when he was answering a question, he says, ‘they ran footage of smoke bombs being thrown and demonstrators invading the ground at one of the Springboks’ matches, and I protested, “Wait a sec, that isn’t me. My opposition to apartheid is non-violent.”’
After the broadcast, Boyce and Marais shook hands and parted on friendly terms, this despite Boyce having just served the Springbok captain with the summons ordering him to appear in a Melbourne court within 21 days to face charges of threatening, punching, and pushing the student Thomas Healy. ‘I can’t remember how it became my responsibility to serve him,’ laughs Boyce. ‘I didn’t want to serve it on him before the program, it wouldn’t have been fair. After the show, I handed Hannes the envelope, and told him I was sorry to have to do it. He took it from me and simply said, “OK”. I can’t say I enjoyed doing it.’ It was subsequently determined that the summons was invalid because Boyce had served it on a Sunday.
In Orange, as match day approached, all remained peaceful. Too peaceful, suspected the town’s authorities. Perhaps protesters would converge on the town at the final moment. So, just in case, Orange police were joined by reinforcements from regional police stations and a force of 50 from Sydney who had done duty at the Springboks’ last two matches and could brief their colleagues on what to expect if trouble flared at the match. Buses of rugby supporters from hundreds of kilometres around poured into town. ‘We’re not here to fight protesters,’ said one, ‘just to enjoy the rugby.’ Make sure you do, was the friendly warning given them by police, and leave crowd control to us.
It turned out that no crowd control was needed. On 14 July, a second-string Springbok team beat a doughty New South Wales Country selection 19–3 in a lively match with minimal interference from just 20 protesters. No smoke bombs or other missiles were thrown, although a few protesters blew whistles and heckled. The only attempt at a field invasion came from prominent protester (who today is a renowned author) Nadia Wheatley, who clambered over the fence and handcuffed herself to a goalpost. Police snapped the cuffs with bolt-cutters and escorted her into one of the eight underutilised vans parked around the field. It may have been the distance from Sydney that kept the demonstrators away, or the fact that many that day were being processed in Sydney courts after the Sydney and New South Wales games. It may have been that those protesters who did show up were intimidated by the presence at the match of raw-boned country lads in cowboy boots, plaid shirts, dirty jeans, and Akubras who made it clear on arrival at the ground that they had tr
avelled far to see the game and didn’t intend to stand by while it was disrupted.
Meredith Burgmann found demonstrating at Orange a frightening experience because she and her colleagues felt so isolated. ‘I had a terrible feeling that here is a crowd that could turn on us in seconds.’
The 500 police on duty at Wade Park were happy and relieved to have an uneventful afternoon. Apart from that of Nadia Wheatley, there were just three arrests, that of a protester called Jennings at the match and two outside the ground. Jeremy Gilling, who had been one of Meredith Burgmann’s dye-throwing crew at Drummoyne Pool the previous year, was booked for concealing a marine flare, and Peter Livesey, a young lawyer whose only sin was wearing long hair and anti-apartheid badges, was shirt-fronted while minding his business in a cafe and ordered out of town. When he protested that he’d done nothing wrong, Livesey was taken to the police station.
For once, Burgmann avoided arrest, though she was questioned at length when police recognised her as a likely troublemaker. An Inspector Stone informed her that he was offended by the sign she was carrying. Stone’s feeling were easily bruised. Burgmann’s placard read ‘No Ties With Apartheid’. He snatched the banner and tore it up.
At a pub after the match, a small group of protesters found themselves surrounded by rugby supporters. Understandably, in light of recent events, they feared the worst. But the fans, the same country lads who had eyed the protesters hostilely at the ground, bought the demonstrators beers and chatted happily to them about apartheid and rugby. It was perhaps reminiscent of the famous World War I truce when Germans and British soldiers who had been massacring each other in the trenches of France laid down their arms for a precious hour on Christmas Day for a friendly game of soccer before returning to their foxholes and reloading their rifles.
