Does the Australian Defence Force Have a Culture of Abuse?
Does the Australian Defence Force Have a Culture of Abuse? In Short...No
Language warning: this article contains language that some may find offensive. Read at your discretion.
I've seen in the media recently and on various areas of social media that there is a culture of abuse in the Australian Defence Force. The ADF seems to be getting smashed from all angles of the media at the moment and it's tiring to see. I want to address this (false) claim. I've served in the Army Ready Reserve, full time Royal Australian Air Force and as a regular in the Australian Army. I've served in several job roles in that time and so I believe my view on this topic is quite valid because I have seen a broad spectrum of the ADF, rather than just one small aspect of it.
I started my career in the Army as a Ready Reserve Soldier in 1996. I attended 1 RTB at Puckapunyal for 3 months that year as Kapooka was overcrowded and being renovated. Basic training was challenging but ultimately enjoyable. The DS were extraordinarily professional. They were tough but fair. It was both physically and mentally challenging, but that is what is expected, especially in the Army. I saw and experienced shouting, screaming, panic, pure physical and mental exhaustion, laughter, jokes, pranks, and mateship. But was there ever any abuse by the staff towards the recruits? Or between recruits? Nope. Not a single time. There needs to be a clear delineation between training, discipline, punitive action, getting smashed in a PT session, helicopter training, your platoon re-doing their morning routine four times in a row because they were too slow, re-making your bed three times because your bombardier saw a tiny wrinkle and thought a ferret was hiding under there…and abuse, because abuse is none of the aforementioned things.
Why Are Those Things Not Abuse? If That's Not Abuse, What is?
I digress. I then commenced Infantry Initial Employment Training (commonly called IETs) for 3 months at Gallipoli Barracks, Brisbane. Usually, this is carried out at Singleton, but that year many of the platoons in 49 RQR and 8/9 RAR was conducted at Gallipoli Barracks as Singleton was at capacity.
We played with some cool shit, like rocket launchers, grenade launchers, grenades of all types, rifles, machine guns, claymore mines, and live-fire assaults using all of these together. It was pretty cool. But very tough, much more physically arduous than Army Basic Training.
At this point, let me introduce Private (Pte) A. Let me be clear that I have contacted Pte A. and that he has granted me permission to tell his story. Now, Pte A. was a good guy but lacked common sense, so often was on the receiving end of his section commander, a man who I will call Cpl W. This section commander was a big bloke, perhaps 6 foot tall and built like a brick shit house. He never smiled, actually no I tell a lie, he sneered a bit, which was his way of smiling I guess. But more often than not, he glared with hatred. Cpl W. was a man you did not want to piss off. I stayed clear of him as often as I could.
He once told a story of being on the Special Air Service Regiment’s (SASR) selection course (or cadre course) and having to be removed due to fracturing his ankle. He lamented that he jumped clear of a Blackhawk helicopter with a 25L water jerry strapped to his leg before the chopper had hit the deck. We were amazed! The man was tough as nails.
As a side note, I spoke with SASR men later in my career who laughed out loud when I told Cpl W.’s tale. They assured me that the Regiment would not waste money or time (much less the Aviation Regiment’s time or money) on a Blackhawk helicopter for a bunch of candidates, most of whom would be returned to their units (RTUed) before the end of the course.
As far as Pte A. was concerned, during those 3 months of infantry IETs, he was on the receiving end of significant bullying and abuse. Some of the blokes in his section laughed in the common room at how he’d been yelled at by Cpl W. incessantly for no reason, or for minor mistakes we’d all done. A great bloke by the name of Pte G. had been back coursed out of the platoon (he’d been Pte A.’s roommate) so now staying alone in his room, gave Cpl W. free reign to walk into Pte A.’s room and let fly. The first time this happened, I just heard a man screaming his head off. A few of us came wandering out of our rooms, looked down the hallway at where the voice was coming from, and then at each other. A few of us went to investigate and found ourselves standing outside Pte A.’s room. His door was closed. Cpl W. was screaming and yelling at him as if he had gone berserk. None of us had the guts to go in and see what was going on. All we knew was that Pte A. was in there alone with a crazy Cpl W. and we thanked our lucky stars it wasn’t us. Who knows what else Cpl W. did to Pte A. behind that closed door. That happened quite a few times over that IET period.
Standing in formation once before marching off as a platoon to a live-fire shoot, Cpl W. stepped forward, cocked his rifle, pulled his weapon into his shoulder, took a sight picture of Pte A.’s head, clicked the safety off, and depressed the trigger. A resounding click followed. Cpl W. and a few of his cronies burst out into laughter. They thought it was hilarious. I might mention that Cpl W. had a magazine attached to his rifle. You can press the top part of the mag down and click it down, then attach it to your rifle which allows the working parts of the weapon to fully come forward, making it look like it was a live weapon (a live round loaded ready to fire). Which is good for training purposes. But not so good for when someone is pointing a weapon at a person’s head and pulls the trigger because it’s difficult to know whether the weapon is loaded with a bullet or not.
I disliked Cpl W. and was so thankful I wasn’t in his section. The pranks continued, well I say pranks, but their intention was one of malice, I suppose, rather than good humour. A couple of Cpl W.’s cronies or Cpl W. himself (I don’t know which) would snap off the plastic clips on Pte A.s webbing when we were in a lesson (we arrayed our webbing in three neat rows outside of a classroom, before entering), or on one such occasion, they snapped the shoulder strap clip on his pack, right before a Combat Fitness Assessment (CFA) pack march. I grabbed Pte A.’s pack at one point to try and assist him in fixing the strap up while on the march. You can’t stop as the march is timed and if you stop, you’re probably going to fail. But the strap was well and truly fucked. So, Pte A. struggled with his pack, carrying it by one strap for 15 km. That was an incredible effort. I take my hat off to the bloke, he didn’t give up easily.
Then enter Pte L. a bloke who’d be been back coursed from another platoon in front of us. He was a lot older than us. He was maybe 23 years old, I suppose. He was back coursed into Cpl W.’s section probably week 6 into the IET course. He was a big bloke, maybe 6 foot 2 or 3, and well-built. He was an outspoken and proud neo-nazi. He’d had a swastika being clutched in the claws of an eagle semi-permanently tattooed on his back (as in the length of his back). He’d talked about getting it inked permanently, but I don’t know if he ever did. He boasted about going out into town on the weekend and bashing Asian people or gay men. He hated Asians and homosexuals. I don’t know if he ever did those things. But he certainly boasted about it or boasted about how much he was of a lady’s man
And it was with the appearance of Pte L. that things became worse for Pte A. Much worse. Pte L. led a few of Cpl W.’s cronies on a rampage against Pte A. They broke into his room, trashed it, trashed his uniforms, pissed on the floor, spat on the mirror, pushed rotten bananas into his shoes, and other various stupid, childish acts. They did this twice that I know of (as they boasted about it in the common room, which was the hub of all gossip, I guess). Those lads thought they were the epitome of being a tough man.
So, we completed IETs which culminated with an activity called Hard Core, it was an all-day activity and was essentially a 35 km pack march with ‘stands’ along the way. Each stand tested your knowledge of what you’d learned on the infantry course. Things like building a fence, setting up a machine gun down a fire lane, throwing grenades from, say, the supine position, setting up a claymore, a section attack, bayonet assault course. You get the idea. Part of that 35 km march led us up and down Enogera Hill as well, which was exhausting. It was a long day, so we were happy when it was all over. We’d all passed. Needless to say, we got on the piss that night at the 49 RQR boozer. We consumed a few (too many) beers. Pte A. left early though, as Pte L. came up to Pte A. who’d been sitting down chatting to a mate, and threw a cup of water in his face. Cpl W. moved around behind Pte A. I think he was trying to provoke Pte A. into a fight. Rather than fight, Pte A. slowly put his beer down, said goodbye to his mate, and walked out. He chose the better part of valour in my view. Pte L. meanwhile was yelling at the man’s departing back, “why don’t you stay and have a beer with us, cunt?” he carried on like a big man. I just watched Pte A. depart into the night. I felt so sorry for him.
In the morning we were in the common room, there were a lot of sore heads let me tell you. Enter Pte L. and a couple of his sidekicks and they begin boasting about how, when they returned from the boozer, they’d broken into Pte A.’s room while he was sleeping, thrown a bucket of cold water on him, and then the group had bashed him before running out of the room. I was shocked. I stayed quiet and didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They thought it was hilarious. They’d had a ball by the sound of it. A few others thought it was funny as well. I didn’t, I thought it was bloody terrible. Later that day a little fella by the name of Pte T. who thought of himself as a real hard man was walking around yelling at Pte A., “you didn’t see nothin’ did ya A.? Did ya? You tell anyone and I’ll fuckin’ bash ya!”
Now it was time to march out and post into our infantry battalion. It was so bloody exciting to know the course had finished and we’d passed. Two days to march out we were in formation out the front of our barracks block and were about to proceed to the parade square to practice our march out drill, this time with the actual band who’d be playing on the day. Before we headed off, Pte A. was called out of formation by Cpl W. and told to fall out. I found that weird.
Later on, I found out that he’d been back coursed. But back coursed to week 7 in Singleton, NSW. The back course concept was to offer a soldier who hadn’t quite grasped that week’s or, at most, fortnight’s content to go back to a platoon following. But to back course, someone 5 weeks was unheard of. I’d certainly never heard of that before, especially considering Pte A. had passed Hard Core. I didn’t know if they were even allowed to do it administratively. Obviously they were though because Pte A. was gone.
That, in my opinion, was a clear failing of Lt S. who was our platoon commander. Surely he must have signed off on the order for it to happen.
I use his example as an example of clear abuse, abuse psychologically, verbally, physically and even institutionalised abuse (in the inappropriate use and a clear breach of the back course policy).
So, what you’ve just read is abuse. Training, being asked to do push-ups or making your bed for the third, fourth, or tenth time, being smashed in PT or a pack march or being pushed on deployment until a soldier is near or is actually rendered unconscious, marching with a backpack for 30km or 40 km, being put on half rations, none of that is not abuse. That is training. That is training the soldier physically and mentally for what might be expected of him or her at sometime in their career. Pte A.’s story is, however, abuse.
So, now that we’ve drawn a clear line between training and abuse, does the ADF have a culture of abuse?
No. Not in my opinion. I left the Ready Reserve after it was scrapped by Prime Minister Howard and studied IT in the civilian world. But I missed the military, so I re-joined in 2001, this time in the RAAF. They made me redo basic training because it’d been a certain number of years since I’d completed a basic training course. I did the 10-week course in Adelaide and found it a breeze. There were some challenges, but nothing compared to the Army basic or Infantry training. I guess I was lucky I had something to compare the RAAF basic training with. I trained as an Aircraft Life Support Fitter and was posted to Richmond to serve with 36 SQN. But I missed the Army and the way they operated, so I transferred back to the Army as an Aircraft Life Support Fitter and was posted to the 5th Aviation Regiment.
I served another 8 years in the ADF between the RAAF and Army and not a single time, ever, did I see or experience abuse, or bullying. I worked alongside consummate professionals from all ranks. Being in Army Aviation meant that occasionally we worked with (or rather for) Special Forces. In particular Special Air Service Regiment and 2 Commando. These men were at the top of their game, fierce warriors many of whom had seen and survived combat, sometimes on multiple deployments. I’m sure cowards like Pte L. and T. and Cpl W. fancied themselves as tough men like these blokes. But I noticed that with these blokes there was a clear difference, they were humble, quietly spoken, and respectful. They had nothing to prove. Oh, they were fuckin’ tough as nails, don’t get me wrong. But being tough has nothing to do with verbally or physically abusing someone.
I will always regret not having the courage to stand up for or step in on behalf of Pte A. It is a regret I carry with me and will go with me to my grave, probably. I wish I’d been a stronger person at the time. Most of us were just kids, 17 years of age (which, come to think of it, also means that the abuse dealt to Pte A. was also done to a legal minor), but that’s no excuse I don’t think. I knew what I was seeing happen was clearly wrong and I stood by and let it happen. That is deeply regretful and to this day I will never allow someone to be bullied. If I can help them, I’ll try my best to do so.
If you are serving in the military and you are reading this, I urge you to do the same. If you see abuse as described above, step in, report it, try and stop it. I wish I could have done it for Pte A.
I’m now into my 3rd part-time year of a Bachelor of Social Work and once graduated, fully intend to work with military veterans suffering from mental health challenges. I’m not arrogant enough to think I can change the system from the inside, but if I can help at least one or two people (and hopefully many more), in a meaningful, fulfilling way then I’ll have done my job.
The ADF Does Not Have a Culture of Abuse!
After having served a decade in the military, I can attest that the ADF does not have a culture of abuse or bullying. I’ll say that until I’m blue in the face. Pte A. was the only individual in all those years, I ever saw abused or bullied. There are a few individuals (like Cpl W. Pte L. or T. or even Lt S.) who are not a good fit for the Army and do not uphold the ethics and values of the Army or the ADF. In other words they are the rotten eggs. But they are only a select few. I guess they are the small percentage of those who slip through the cracks at the entry-level of recruiting. Perhaps a more robust selection process is required in recruiting to weed those small few out. The vast majority of the ADF are good people and superb operators.
However, to those unfortunate individuals who have suffered abuse, I for one am sorry this happened. It isn't your fault and is a clear failing of the system on your behalf. It is also the failing of people like myself, who didn't, at the time, have the gumption to stand up and put a stop to it. Your story of abuse and bullying is absolutely valid, and I hope you seek the help and legal advice (if you choose to go down that path) that you deserve.
If you’ve come this far, thanks for reading.
Keith McArdle
https://www.keithmcardle.com/
Language warning: this article contains language that some may find offensive. Read at your discretion.
I've seen in the media recently and on various areas of social media that there is a culture of abuse in the Australian Defence Force. The ADF seems to be getting smashed from all angles of the media at the moment and it's tiring to see. I want to address this (false) claim. I've served in the Army Ready Reserve, full time Royal Australian Air Force and as a regular in the Australian Army. I've served in several job roles in that time and so I believe my view on this topic is quite valid because I have seen a broad spectrum of the ADF, rather than just one small aspect of it.
I started my career in the Army as a Ready Reserve Soldier in 1996. I attended 1 RTB at Puckapunyal for 3 months that year as Kapooka was overcrowded and being renovated. Basic training was challenging but ultimately enjoyable. The DS were extraordinarily professional. They were tough but fair. It was both physically and mentally challenging, but that is what is expected, especially in the Army. I saw and experienced shouting, screaming, panic, pure physical and mental exhaustion, laughter, jokes, pranks, and mateship. But was there ever any abuse by the staff towards the recruits? Or between recruits? Nope. Not a single time. There needs to be a clear delineation between training, discipline, punitive action, getting smashed in a PT session, helicopter training, your platoon re-doing their morning routine four times in a row because they were too slow, re-making your bed three times because your bombardier saw a tiny wrinkle and thought a ferret was hiding under there…and abuse, because abuse is none of the aforementioned things.
Why Are Those Things Not Abuse? If That's Not Abuse, What is?
I digress. I then commenced Infantry Initial Employment Training (commonly called IETs) for 3 months at Gallipoli Barracks, Brisbane. Usually, this is carried out at Singleton, but that year many of the platoons in 49 RQR and 8/9 RAR was conducted at Gallipoli Barracks as Singleton was at capacity.
We played with some cool shit, like rocket launchers, grenade launchers, grenades of all types, rifles, machine guns, claymore mines, and live-fire assaults using all of these together. It was pretty cool. But very tough, much more physically arduous than Army Basic Training.
At this point, let me introduce Private (Pte) A. Let me be clear that I have contacted Pte A. and that he has granted me permission to tell his story. Now, Pte A. was a good guy but lacked common sense, so often was on the receiving end of his section commander, a man who I will call Cpl W. This section commander was a big bloke, perhaps 6 foot tall and built like a brick shit house. He never smiled, actually no I tell a lie, he sneered a bit, which was his way of smiling I guess. But more often than not, he glared with hatred. Cpl W. was a man you did not want to piss off. I stayed clear of him as often as I could.
He once told a story of being on the Special Air Service Regiment’s (SASR) selection course (or cadre course) and having to be removed due to fracturing his ankle. He lamented that he jumped clear of a Blackhawk helicopter with a 25L water jerry strapped to his leg before the chopper had hit the deck. We were amazed! The man was tough as nails.
As a side note, I spoke with SASR men later in my career who laughed out loud when I told Cpl W.’s tale. They assured me that the Regiment would not waste money or time (much less the Aviation Regiment’s time or money) on a Blackhawk helicopter for a bunch of candidates, most of whom would be returned to their units (RTUed) before the end of the course.
As far as Pte A. was concerned, during those 3 months of infantry IETs, he was on the receiving end of significant bullying and abuse. Some of the blokes in his section laughed in the common room at how he’d been yelled at by Cpl W. incessantly for no reason, or for minor mistakes we’d all done. A great bloke by the name of Pte G. had been back coursed out of the platoon (he’d been Pte A.’s roommate) so now staying alone in his room, gave Cpl W. free reign to walk into Pte A.’s room and let fly. The first time this happened, I just heard a man screaming his head off. A few of us came wandering out of our rooms, looked down the hallway at where the voice was coming from, and then at each other. A few of us went to investigate and found ourselves standing outside Pte A.’s room. His door was closed. Cpl W. was screaming and yelling at him as if he had gone berserk. None of us had the guts to go in and see what was going on. All we knew was that Pte A. was in there alone with a crazy Cpl W. and we thanked our lucky stars it wasn’t us. Who knows what else Cpl W. did to Pte A. behind that closed door. That happened quite a few times over that IET period.
Standing in formation once before marching off as a platoon to a live-fire shoot, Cpl W. stepped forward, cocked his rifle, pulled his weapon into his shoulder, took a sight picture of Pte A.’s head, clicked the safety off, and depressed the trigger. A resounding click followed. Cpl W. and a few of his cronies burst out into laughter. They thought it was hilarious. I might mention that Cpl W. had a magazine attached to his rifle. You can press the top part of the mag down and click it down, then attach it to your rifle which allows the working parts of the weapon to fully come forward, making it look like it was a live weapon (a live round loaded ready to fire). Which is good for training purposes. But not so good for when someone is pointing a weapon at a person’s head and pulls the trigger because it’s difficult to know whether the weapon is loaded with a bullet or not.
I disliked Cpl W. and was so thankful I wasn’t in his section. The pranks continued, well I say pranks, but their intention was one of malice, I suppose, rather than good humour. A couple of Cpl W.’s cronies or Cpl W. himself (I don’t know which) would snap off the plastic clips on Pte A.s webbing when we were in a lesson (we arrayed our webbing in three neat rows outside of a classroom, before entering), or on one such occasion, they snapped the shoulder strap clip on his pack, right before a Combat Fitness Assessment (CFA) pack march. I grabbed Pte A.’s pack at one point to try and assist him in fixing the strap up while on the march. You can’t stop as the march is timed and if you stop, you’re probably going to fail. But the strap was well and truly fucked. So, Pte A. struggled with his pack, carrying it by one strap for 15 km. That was an incredible effort. I take my hat off to the bloke, he didn’t give up easily.
Then enter Pte L. a bloke who’d be been back coursed from another platoon in front of us. He was a lot older than us. He was maybe 23 years old, I suppose. He was back coursed into Cpl W.’s section probably week 6 into the IET course. He was a big bloke, maybe 6 foot 2 or 3, and well-built. He was an outspoken and proud neo-nazi. He’d had a swastika being clutched in the claws of an eagle semi-permanently tattooed on his back (as in the length of his back). He’d talked about getting it inked permanently, but I don’t know if he ever did. He boasted about going out into town on the weekend and bashing Asian people or gay men. He hated Asians and homosexuals. I don’t know if he ever did those things. But he certainly boasted about it or boasted about how much he was of a lady’s man
And it was with the appearance of Pte L. that things became worse for Pte A. Much worse. Pte L. led a few of Cpl W.’s cronies on a rampage against Pte A. They broke into his room, trashed it, trashed his uniforms, pissed on the floor, spat on the mirror, pushed rotten bananas into his shoes, and other various stupid, childish acts. They did this twice that I know of (as they boasted about it in the common room, which was the hub of all gossip, I guess). Those lads thought they were the epitome of being a tough man.
So, we completed IETs which culminated with an activity called Hard Core, it was an all-day activity and was essentially a 35 km pack march with ‘stands’ along the way. Each stand tested your knowledge of what you’d learned on the infantry course. Things like building a fence, setting up a machine gun down a fire lane, throwing grenades from, say, the supine position, setting up a claymore, a section attack, bayonet assault course. You get the idea. Part of that 35 km march led us up and down Enogera Hill as well, which was exhausting. It was a long day, so we were happy when it was all over. We’d all passed. Needless to say, we got on the piss that night at the 49 RQR boozer. We consumed a few (too many) beers. Pte A. left early though, as Pte L. came up to Pte A. who’d been sitting down chatting to a mate, and threw a cup of water in his face. Cpl W. moved around behind Pte A. I think he was trying to provoke Pte A. into a fight. Rather than fight, Pte A. slowly put his beer down, said goodbye to his mate, and walked out. He chose the better part of valour in my view. Pte L. meanwhile was yelling at the man’s departing back, “why don’t you stay and have a beer with us, cunt?” he carried on like a big man. I just watched Pte A. depart into the night. I felt so sorry for him.
In the morning we were in the common room, there were a lot of sore heads let me tell you. Enter Pte L. and a couple of his sidekicks and they begin boasting about how, when they returned from the boozer, they’d broken into Pte A.’s room while he was sleeping, thrown a bucket of cold water on him, and then the group had bashed him before running out of the room. I was shocked. I stayed quiet and didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They thought it was hilarious. They’d had a ball by the sound of it. A few others thought it was funny as well. I didn’t, I thought it was bloody terrible. Later that day a little fella by the name of Pte T. who thought of himself as a real hard man was walking around yelling at Pte A., “you didn’t see nothin’ did ya A.? Did ya? You tell anyone and I’ll fuckin’ bash ya!”
Now it was time to march out and post into our infantry battalion. It was so bloody exciting to know the course had finished and we’d passed. Two days to march out we were in formation out the front of our barracks block and were about to proceed to the parade square to practice our march out drill, this time with the actual band who’d be playing on the day. Before we headed off, Pte A. was called out of formation by Cpl W. and told to fall out. I found that weird.
Later on, I found out that he’d been back coursed. But back coursed to week 7 in Singleton, NSW. The back course concept was to offer a soldier who hadn’t quite grasped that week’s or, at most, fortnight’s content to go back to a platoon following. But to back course, someone 5 weeks was unheard of. I’d certainly never heard of that before, especially considering Pte A. had passed Hard Core. I didn’t know if they were even allowed to do it administratively. Obviously they were though because Pte A. was gone.
That, in my opinion, was a clear failing of Lt S. who was our platoon commander. Surely he must have signed off on the order for it to happen.
I use his example as an example of clear abuse, abuse psychologically, verbally, physically and even institutionalised abuse (in the inappropriate use and a clear breach of the back course policy).
So, what you’ve just read is abuse. Training, being asked to do push-ups or making your bed for the third, fourth, or tenth time, being smashed in PT or a pack march or being pushed on deployment until a soldier is near or is actually rendered unconscious, marching with a backpack for 30km or 40 km, being put on half rations, none of that is not abuse. That is training. That is training the soldier physically and mentally for what might be expected of him or her at sometime in their career. Pte A.’s story is, however, abuse.
So, now that we’ve drawn a clear line between training and abuse, does the ADF have a culture of abuse?
No. Not in my opinion. I left the Ready Reserve after it was scrapped by Prime Minister Howard and studied IT in the civilian world. But I missed the military, so I re-joined in 2001, this time in the RAAF. They made me redo basic training because it’d been a certain number of years since I’d completed a basic training course. I did the 10-week course in Adelaide and found it a breeze. There were some challenges, but nothing compared to the Army basic or Infantry training. I guess I was lucky I had something to compare the RAAF basic training with. I trained as an Aircraft Life Support Fitter and was posted to Richmond to serve with 36 SQN. But I missed the Army and the way they operated, so I transferred back to the Army as an Aircraft Life Support Fitter and was posted to the 5th Aviation Regiment.
I served another 8 years in the ADF between the RAAF and Army and not a single time, ever, did I see or experience abuse, or bullying. I worked alongside consummate professionals from all ranks. Being in Army Aviation meant that occasionally we worked with (or rather for) Special Forces. In particular Special Air Service Regiment and 2 Commando. These men were at the top of their game, fierce warriors many of whom had seen and survived combat, sometimes on multiple deployments. I’m sure cowards like Pte L. and T. and Cpl W. fancied themselves as tough men like these blokes. But I noticed that with these blokes there was a clear difference, they were humble, quietly spoken, and respectful. They had nothing to prove. Oh, they were fuckin’ tough as nails, don’t get me wrong. But being tough has nothing to do with verbally or physically abusing someone.
I will always regret not having the courage to stand up for or step in on behalf of Pte A. It is a regret I carry with me and will go with me to my grave, probably. I wish I’d been a stronger person at the time. Most of us were just kids, 17 years of age (which, come to think of it, also means that the abuse dealt to Pte A. was also done to a legal minor), but that’s no excuse I don’t think. I knew what I was seeing happen was clearly wrong and I stood by and let it happen. That is deeply regretful and to this day I will never allow someone to be bullied. If I can help them, I’ll try my best to do so.
If you are serving in the military and you are reading this, I urge you to do the same. If you see abuse as described above, step in, report it, try and stop it. I wish I could have done it for Pte A.
I’m now into my 3rd part-time year of a Bachelor of Social Work and once graduated, fully intend to work with military veterans suffering from mental health challenges. I’m not arrogant enough to think I can change the system from the inside, but if I can help at least one or two people (and hopefully many more), in a meaningful, fulfilling way then I’ll have done my job.
The ADF Does Not Have a Culture of Abuse!
After having served a decade in the military, I can attest that the ADF does not have a culture of abuse or bullying. I’ll say that until I’m blue in the face. Pte A. was the only individual in all those years, I ever saw abused or bullied. There are a few individuals (like Cpl W. Pte L. or T. or even Lt S.) who are not a good fit for the Army and do not uphold the ethics and values of the Army or the ADF. In other words they are the rotten eggs. But they are only a select few. I guess they are the small percentage of those who slip through the cracks at the entry-level of recruiting. Perhaps a more robust selection process is required in recruiting to weed those small few out. The vast majority of the ADF are good people and superb operators.
However, to those unfortunate individuals who have suffered abuse, I for one am sorry this happened. It isn't your fault and is a clear failing of the system on your behalf. It is also the failing of people like myself, who didn't, at the time, have the gumption to stand up and put a stop to it. Your story of abuse and bullying is absolutely valid, and I hope you seek the help and legal advice (if you choose to go down that path) that you deserve.
If you’ve come this far, thanks for reading.
Keith McArdle
https://www.keithmcardle.com/
Me at Camp Baker, Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan, 2008.
