By Albert Palazzo
WAR
Flawed Hero: Truth, Lies and War Crimes
Chris Masters
Allen & Unwin, $34.99
For the true measurement of the individual and for the maintenance of a society the truth matters. Unfortunately, we live in an age in which the value of the truth is under attack. Terms such as alternative facts have gained acceptance and fact-checkers are overworked.
The role of truth in sustaining a fair and just society, and the consequent need to protect it, is the main theme of Chris Masters’ compelling retelling of the Ben Roberts-Smith defamation trial. This makes Flawed Hero: Truth, Lies and War Crime a book worth reading on many levels.
Chris Masters in Afghanistan hunting for the truth.Credit:
After the 2018 publication of allegations of war crimes, including that of unlawful killing, the Special Forces soldier and Victoria Cross winner sued The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and The Canberra Times as well as three journalists – Chris Masters, Nick McKenzie and David Wroe – for defamation. The newspapers and journalists relied on the truth of their allegations as their defence. After a lengthy trial, the judge handed down a devastating rebuttal of Roberts-Smith’s assertions of victimhood. Roberts-Smith is appealing the decision.
Since he was a defendant, Masters attended the proceedings every day, even if sometimes via video link. His emotional involvement in the case’s outcome, and the potential for reputational and financial ruin, could have tainted this book. But Masters is a journalist of exceptional skill and high professional repute. He does not spin the story to his advantage or use the narrative to launch cheap shots or glib rejoinders. Instead, he recounts the proceedings with an authoritative voice that never loses its measure or the reader’s attention.
In recounting his tale, Masters demonstrates how expensive, time-consuming and emotionally draining the defence of the truth can be. Both sides fielded an array of high-priced lawyers, assembled teams of witnesses and occupied the resources of a court for the better part of a year. Why do so? As Masters suggests, it was not only the reputation of one soldier that was at issue. Roberts-Smith’s supporters also had much at stake. They had invested in the myth of the man and the infallibility of the ANZAC and were committed beyond the point of altering their positions.
There is quote attributed to Winston Churchill and John Maynard Keynes, among others, to the effect that “when the facts change, I change my mind”. In this instance, however, certain people preferred to sacrifice their honour rather than admit to a misplaced faith.
Flawed Hero’s secondary theme deals with accountability. Rumours of moral failings and war crimes had circulated within and around the Australian Defence Force for years. Some brave soldiers brought to their superiors allegations of bullying and worse, yet the chain-of-command did not respond. Those in charge saw nothing and hence did nothing. The nation’s political overlords also seemed oblivious.
In the end, Masters makes the case for an institution whose leaders were in no position to know what happened, nor were they able to do anything about it. There are crucial lessons here.
If there is a weakness in the book it is its sheer detail. The testimony of every witness over the trial’s 110 days is recounted, making a degree of repetition unavoidable. There are also only so many ways to describe Roberts-Smith’s brooding presence throughout the trial. These are minor quibbles, however.
While the locations of the alleged war crimes, Whisky 108, Chinartu and Darwan, will never resonate with Australians as do the much larger battles of Bardia, Kapyong and Long Tan, they do need to be remembered. International agreements such as the Laws of Armed Conflict exist to place limits on the horrors of war. To ensure that in the future Australia’s soldiers, sailors and aviators respect the moral and legal boundaries of military engagement, instances of failure must be retained in the institutional memory. Perhaps this is Masters’s most important contribution to the Australian military tradition.
Flawed Hero will appeal to many readers: military enthusiasts, aficionados of court-room dramas and journalists of all stripes. More significantly, for those who believe unquestioningly in the ANZAC spirit, this book offers an important corrective – hero worship must not be blind.
Masters has told a tale that should resonate with our time and that goes to the heart of the type of Australia its citizens aspire to create. Decent and fair societies are built on a foundation of truth. Those readers who wish to build a better Australia, and who are able to learn from our country’s mistakes, will find in this book a valuable resource.
Albert Palazzo is an adjunct professor at UNSW Canberra.
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