Crossing the Line: The Inside Story of Murder, Lies and a Fallen Hero by Nick McKenzie.
My rating: four stars
I’m not going to lie: I’m reading this for different reasons (and have probably enjoyed it in a different way) than the usual reader. I’m digging in because at heart, while it ostensibly speaks to the murderous fuckwittery of one man, emblematic of a section of Australia’s elite forces, it also addresses the power that journalism can have, despite obstacles – legal, cultural and military – that might get in the way.
Perhaps it was us who were the fools for publishing without certainty of victory in a defamation court.
Masters always had a calm response to my second-guessing. ‘Was it in the public interest? Did Australians have a right to know? And was it true?’
The answer to all these questions was, yes, whether we could prove it in court or not.
Crossing the Line details how journalists Nick McKenzie and Chris Masters – both accomplished journos – worked to bring to light accusations of war crimes against the most decorated Australian soldier (and former SAS operator), Ben Roberts-Smith. It also details what happened when, in what would turn out to be a spectacular example of own-goal hubris, the soldier decided to sue the journalists for defamation.
Simkin muttered darkly one name more than others: Ben Roberts-Smith. Hastie could still remember Simkin’s exact words. ‘People are doing stupid shit overseas. Don’t do it. Don’t be that guy. Don’t ruin your life.’
If you would like a brief catch-up on the BRS saga, The Guardian has a great podcast series, Ben Roberts-Smith versus the Media. (I’m assuming you’re across what’s been going on, however: I can’t imagine a stranger to the allegations picking this one up for a casual read.)
The story told here trucks in national identity: McKenzie highlights the way military culture and achievement is treated with reverence by politicians and big business alike. The ANZAC spirit – something it can be argued was a Howard-era prop, wheeled out whenever needed – is key to how [some of] the nation sees itself. And the actions of current military personnel are attached to that, whether they like it or not. Regardless, that shadow looms large, as evidenced by ministerial unwillingness to, at least initially, address the actions under discussion, or the apparent fixation Kerry Stokes has on collecting medals and, well, bankrolling BRS and colleagues to the tune of north of $2m.
Seven was a public company listed on the stock exchange. Under corporate rules, it was meant to use company money only on things that would benefit Seven and its shareholders. Helping Roberts-Smith fend off war crimes allegations may have been in the ex-soldier’s interests, but it wouldn’t benefit Seven’s bottom line.
The book presents a portrait of Roberts-Smith that is far from flattering. The dichotomy of the man – Father of the Year and much-awarded soldier versus big-noting bully and war criminal – is examined, and it’s a pretty horrifying portrayal. I have no doubt that it takes something a bit broken and particularly unique to operate under the pressures of combat at SAS level, but the bloke presented here seems the epitome of entitlement, or of never being told no.
During one long lunch, he lambasted Seven’s hiring of high-profile sports presenter Mel McLaughlin: ‘You know the worst thing? I just don’t think she’s that good looking.’
At another, he told a stunned table that he used to get paid ‘to shoot cunts in the head’.
While a lot of time is spent on the accruing of information strong enough to stand up in print, the meat of the story is about the pressure of the defamation process.
There was good reason why Sydney had been labelled the defamation capital of the world by The New York Times. The difficulty in constructing a defence meant it was often impossible for Australian reporters to fight back when sued, especially if the litigant was cashed up.
As someone who’s been involved in defamation proceedings before, I read this part of the book with especial interest. It is a journalist’s worst fear, and the sort of arena everyone hopes they can avoid. It’s where bills increase exponentially, and where, even if you win, you probably lose due to the costs involved.
(Unless, you know, Kerry Stokes is paying for your case. It’s probably a little easier to handle in that situation.)
And this is what Ben Robert-Smith brought on himself. He believed the journalists (and their insurer, probably more to the point) would fold, apologise, and effectively kybosh any further examination.
Part of the appeal of this book, being someone who has anxiety, is the fact that McKenzie, a 14-time Walkley winner, is disarmingly honest about his anxiety. He dry-retches when Justice Besanko gives a date for his decision. He skips breakfasts to stave off nausea and then has a momentary moment of panic thinking he’ll vomit on a courtroom table. He focuses on his breathing to stop the spinning of a room freighted with importance. These aren’t moments that crop up often, but taken in concert with the dogged, driven approach McKenzie has towards reportage – he and Chris Masters certainly had enough junctures where it could be argued that most people would’ve jumped ship and settled – it presents a portrait of the journalist that speaks to tenacity despite pressure, something that’s echoed in his description of elements of the military establishment. McKenzie is profoundly aware that he is involved in a case against a military golden boy, but such is his faith in the story – and the importance of telling it – that he pushes on.
What I really liked was that the author managed to capture what it was that makes this kind of travail worthwhile – the thrill of the journalistic chase, and the ability to tell stories that demand to be told. This really speaks to my background in the industry: what McKenzie and Masters did was Proper Journalism, telling unpopular truths from their own research, with the backing of their bosses and the confidence of their sources. It reminds me that no matter how shitty the state of the media here – and it’s pretty shitty, let’s face it – there’s still moments of grace, and still positive actions by even the most execrable of companies:
My former boss James Chessell had already addressed the newsrooms of the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age, telling them to hope for a win but prepare for a loss.
‘Even if NIck and Chris don’t succeed, we will be proud of their journalism. The company has already planned in the budget for their loss, so it won’t lead to job losses.’
Roberts-Smith is currently pursuing an appeal of Justice Besanko’s verdict. Until this shakes out, it’s unlikely we’ll see – if we ever do see – whether there will be further investigations into, or charges laid over the crimes at the heart of this case. Investigation should be the bare minimum (and who knows, the OSI might be doing so already), but if the verdict stands and we don’t prosecute for war crimes, then we truly are a nation of weakness. Fuck that.
Yeah nah. 