From the very first,Dyer believed Kate’s story – a belief,she says,based on her knowledge of Kate,“the considered way she went about seeking justice and closure,and her story itself”. This story was told in a series of documents publicly released by the Federal Court last year. Various commentators have questioned this “dossier”,raising concerns that some parts were non-contemporaneous with the alleged crime,inaccurate as to dates,and seemed to hark back to the “repressed memory” phenomenon of the 1980s and ’90s,in which memories of traumatic events were sometimes found to be false.
Dyer,needless to say,utterly rejects these suggestions. “Using Kate’s mental health challenges as a way to try to undermine her credibility,and using all the trauma,which she ascribed to the assault,as a reason to disbelieve the story of the assault,is just reprehensible,” she says. “You only have to read her statement. It is a really powerful,devastating document. It packs a bloody great punch.”
No details of Kate’s story were made public until after her death. Their subsequent publication,Dyer says,was a specific request from Kate. “She said,‘If I can’t see this through,I want you to take it forward.’ And what she meant was,if her mental health deteriorated to the point that she ended her own life,we weren’t to give up.” She shakes her head. “Of course,it never occurred to me she would do such a thing. That was naive of me,frankly. I knew she’d attempted suicide before:I now think she was very much aware of it as a possibility. And once it happened – the very worst thing that could have happened – there was no doubt it was unfinished business for us,and for me.”
“I hadn’t really considered the implications. Bearing witness for Kate was a very natural thing to do. It’s only afterwards that you think,“F…!”
Dyer’s friends believe that her “moral courage,her really extraordinary emotional stoicism and resilience”,as Rachel Healy puts it,lie behind her subsequent public campaign in defence of Kate’s story. “I think that’s very much part of why Kate re-established contact with Jo,” agrees Ryan. “She knew how fierce Jo is,and what a powerful advocate she would be.”
Michael Bradley,managing partner of Marque Lawyers in Sydney,the lawyer to both Kate and Dyer,says Dyer is an unusual person. “Because in all of this,she’s had nothing to gain personally. Indeed,she’s acted despite great personal risks and problems. Yet she’s been absolutely steadfast.”
Dyer,as seems typical of her,plays these comments down. “Look,I certainly didn’t support Kate due to any logical,considered position,” she says,smiling. (Even when describing events she clearly finds tragic or annoying or completely enraging,she will often produce a joke or an eye-roll:a little something to lighten the moment,keep the audience engaged.)
In the midst of all the political drama,meanwhile,another saga was underway,this time in the courtroom. And this one involved neither Kate’s story directly nor the blind trust. Instead,it was a fight started by Jo Dyer,against Christian Porter,about – of all things – lawyers.
Dyer’s claim was that Porter’s barrister in his ABC defamation case,Sue Chrysanthou,SC,should bebarred from acting for him,because she hadpreviously advised Dyer (along with another of Kate’s friends,Macquarie Bank executive James Hooke) on issues connected to Kate’s story,and thus had a conflict of interest.
Dyer brought this case only against Chrysanthou,but Porter sought the leave of the court to be included,and became the active participant. It went to court in May,and made headline news every day. As it progressed,it became clear that whoever lost would face an enormous bill. Dyer’s lawyers were acting on a “no win,no fee” basis,she explains,but “I had no formal arrangements – as it were! – in place for any help from anyone. If I had lost,I would have been liable for all Porter’s and Chrysanthou’s costs”:some hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The pressure to settle rather than risk this loss,say Dyer’s friends,was immense. The night before the judge’s decision,“there was such a weight in the house”,recalls Michael Rowland. “It was very quiet,not much overt emotion:just this weight. I remember thinking,‘Even if she sells everything she owns,and we all sell everything,she’s not going to be able to pay.’ But Jo stood by her principles. You don’t squib on a mate,and the right choice is the one you can live with. So she kept going.”
Dyer won the case. Ten days ago,the federal court ordered Porter and Chrysanthou to pay costs of $430,200. At the time of writing,meanwhile,Porter was still appealing the decision in the Dyer case itself,despite the fact the ABC defamation case was resolved in mediation – which means,of course,that he no longer requires Chrysanthou’s services.
Dyer says the court case was “an absolutely terrifying thing to do”. Yet she does not seem noticeably daunted by having done it. On the opening day of court,she wore a bright emerald dress,a marked contrast to the surrounding legal black. (As Mike Rowland puts it,this is classic Dyer:“She’s in colour,everyone else is in black and white.“) And a week after the decision,she threatened to sue Porter himself for defamation,proclaiming in a statement:“He should be on notice that if I launch legal proceedings,I tend to see them through to their conclusion.”
Jo Dyer was born,the youngest of three girls,in 1969 in Melbourne. The family moved to Adelaide when she was a toddler,and she had “a very normal childhood:two sisters close in age,a nice house,parents still together”. (They split up when she was a teenager.) She attended the smart Presbyterian Girls’ College,now Seymour College. “We weren’t typical private school kids because we had two fairly left-wing academics[her father in environmental science,her mother in education] for parents. There were moments where you could see the other parents thinking,‘Are they a bit shady? Are they hippy,dope-smoking academics?’ ”
“Dad had a sticker on his car:Shame Fraser,Shame,” recalls Dyer’s oldest sister,Lesley Dyer,a film producer based in Los Angeles. “I was so embarrassed I used to make him park around the corner at school,but Jo never was.”
A kind of cheerful precocity seems to have defined Dyer as a child:she was a scholarship student,accepted within the student community as a charismatic,albeit slightly eccentric agitator. “I was president of the student representative council:we raised issues like,‘Can we wear cardigans with our summer uniform?’ ‘Can we get the bubbler fixed?’ ” Dyer grins. “You’re on a pretty tight leash. I remember having to give a speech once,and I’d obviously adopted a bit of a tone,and the headmistress,who was sitting behind me,murmured,‘Careful,Jo.’ ”
“She’s thrived in the arts,but it was always in politics that I thought she’d make her most indelible impression.”
She attended Adelaide University with the likes of former Australian Democrats leader Natasha Stott Despoja,Labor senator Penny Wong and former South Australian premier Jay Weatherill. But while they were sharpening their political skills for future greatness,Dyer was failing to get elected as the editor of student newspaperOn Dit and being distracted by the singular pleasures of university life. “Uni was just enormously good fun,and enormously bereft of academic work,” she says,laughing.
Her failure at student politics was not a failure of interest. “It’s her lifelong passion,” says Rachel Healy. “She’s thrived in the arts,but it was always in politics that I thought she’d make her most indelible impression. At uni,she was right in amongst it with that very notable cohort” – not only Wong et al,but also Christopher Pyne,Mark Butler,Pat Conlon and political journalists Annabel Crabb and David Penberthy. “Politics is the oxygen she breathes.”
Graduating with a law degree,Dyer joined Bangarra Dance Theatre,then a small,financially struggling Indigenous troupe,where she soon found herself the general manager. “They were hard years,” recalls long-time artistic director Stephen Page. “But Jo was very bright,loyal and willing to learn:she just dove in and took risks and gathered up this dillybag of experience. I must have driven her crazy,but she was always optimistic,and she always found a way to comfort me when things weren’t working.” Then only 26,Dyer is credited with helping steer Bangarra onto a firmer financial footing,including securing its first corporate partner.
In 1999,she returned to SA as general manager of children’s festival Come Out (now called the DreamBIG festival) and stood for Labor preselection for the 2001 election. She lost. Mike Rowland’s judgment is that “she was rolled by factional politics. I was surprised by how crestfallen she was,actually. It really put her off.” Rachel Healy agrees. “It was a really bruising experience for her.”
Dyer,predictably,cheerfully downplays the experience. “Of course it’s really common to miss out,and you often have to stand multiple times to be preselected,” she says. “I could have stayed and had another crack. I was 30-odd,and I thought about it. Thirty to 40:that’s the time to invest in trying to make this happen. But on the other hand,I could just go and live my best life in the arts.” She smiles. “I just thought it was no contest.”
She returned to Sydney,where she worked in a senior executive role at the Sydney Theatre Company under artistic director Robyn Nevin,then Cate Blanchett and Andrew Upton. After 11 years,in 2012,she left when management changed. “It was time to move on,” is how she puts it. She gave birth to Ezekiel that year,and focused on freelance production work before joining the Sydney Writers’ Festival in 2015. A few years later she was invited back to South Australia as director of Adelaide Writers’ Week (AWW).
“I could have stayed and had another crack. I was 30-odd,and thought about it. But on the other hand,I could go and live my best life in the arts. It was no contest.”
Her arrival coincided with the 2018 state election,and when the Liberal Party won she caused a contretemps by writing on her Facebook page that “the Libs” had “no f…ing idea” and would “flog off everything ... to their corporate mates”. Amid the resulting flurry of publicity,with senior state Liberals such as Treasurer Rob Lucas saying “she needs to be answerable” for “being disrespectful to the people of South Australia”,she apologised and removed the comment,explaining that it was written on her private Facebook page – a page,mind you,which was linked to several hundred friends. It was a moment of naivety for which she was roundly criticised,though,with typical sangfroid,she called it “a storm in a teacup”.
Since then,she’s run three successful AWWs,battling through bushfires and pandemics and the brave new world of Zoom events. “Festivals can become cliquey and subject to favouritism,” says Peter Rose,editor ofAustralian Book Review. “Jo has not done that. She has been impressively open to a wide range of writers and opinions. Her festivals have been more political,perhaps,than those of previous directors,which doesn’t suit everyone,but I think they do suit the times,and the urgency of the political issues we face.”
“I’ve never seen Writers’ Week on the national news before,” says Healy. “Not the arts news,but taking part in the national conversation. Jo has made it a place for creative ideas,but also ideas of the day.”
This year’s festival,Dyer’s last,will feature heavy hitters like former prime ministers Malcolm Turnbull and Kevin Rudd in a double header;2021 Australian of the Year Grace Tame;Booker shortlisted author Elif Shafak and Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka,among others.
Almost exactly eight weeks ago,on December 1,2021,Christian Porterannounced his resignation from politics. He has remained out of the media spotlight since then;he did not respond toGood Weekend’s requests for comments on this story. I spoke to Dyer two days after his decision. “It’s surprisingly discombobulating,” she said. “I didn’t expect to feel as emotional as I have. I think it’s realising that,despite every effort by the government to deflect,deny,destroy,there have been real consequences to Kate’s story.”
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It feels like the end of something,she adds,as if a burden she took up when Kate died can be laid down. Her personal conviction,that it was “untenable” for someone in Porter’s former position to retain it without some form of investigation,means she believes it’s right he has resigned.
But what about Christian Porter himself,I ask. Does she ever think about what he’s gone through,what he might feel? Does she ever consider the idea that he might not be guilty?
“No. It’s as simple as that,” she says matter-of-factly. “But of course,the whole thing has been really awful on every single front,for everyone. That first press conference – you wouldn’t have been human if you hadn’t felt for him.”
Even now,she says,she sometimes finds herself thrown strangely backwards in time,to the period when the alleged events occurred:that time of “intensity and vulnerability” when everyone involved was on the cusp of adulthood. “Maybe that’s why it’s been such an upheaval,” she confesses,“and why everyone has fought so hard. Because we feel such tenderness,and such responsibility,when we look back at ourselves as we were then.”
Despite Porter’s resignation,it’s clear that Kate’s story,and its implications,will be with Dyer for some time to come. Last year she was commissioned to write a book reviewing recent events entitled Burning Down the House:Reconstructing Modern Politics (to be published next month). In March,she will appear at the 10th annual All About Women festival in Sydney,discussing Kate’s story. And most surprising of all,in December last year,less than a fortnight after Porter stepped out of politics,Dyer stepped in. Sometime in the next few months,when the federal election is finally called,she will run as a candidate for the marginal South Australian seat of Boothby.
“Clearly I wish none of last year’s events ever happened – that Kate had been able to tell her story,herself,and that I was just a footnote,” she concludes. “But on the other hand,the whole thing has been incredibly galvanising for me,as it has been for lots of people.”
She’s not put off by those who question her motives or loathe her for her actions with regard to Porter. “In politics you do have to justify the actions you’ve taken,and it’s right that you’re asked to do so.” She leans forward,surrounded by book towers. “Look,it is a horribly toxic and tawdry time in politics. It’s excruciating,actually. And the phrases that everyone reaches for all the time are,‘We’re better than this’ and ‘This is not who we are’.” She sits up. “Well,actually,this is who we are. This is the government we’ve elected and now re-elected. And I just decided that if I want things to be different,I’ve got to get some skin in the game.”
“This is the government we’ve elected and now re-elected. And I just decided that if I want things to be different,I’ve got to get some skin in the game.”
Despite – indeed,perhaps because of – her background with Labor,Dyer will run as an independent. Thus,the theory goes,she will avoid being crushed in the ravening maw of factional politics,and be able to play to her fundamental strength:prosecuting what she believes with complete conviction. It sounds simple,an almost Platonically pure version of politics,but it remains to be seen whether,if elected – challenging enough in itself – Dyer’s convictions can survive the bear pit of Canberra,and the compromises required to get anything done.
Lesley Dyer,loyal sister to the end,believes they will,but adds doubtfully:“Jo is sort of physically incapable of compromising what she believes,so ...” Nick Ryan’s warning,should she win,is that,“If you think Jacqui Lambie can get feisty,you haven’t seen anything yet.”
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Her campaign began quietly over Christmas,with only a salvo or two from the Coalition about Dyer’s GoFundMe fundraising page being her version of a blind trust,to Dyer’s laughing disbelief. “I was like,‘You want to make this about transparency and accountability?’” she says. ” ‘Oh,please go ahead!’ ”
Until Writer’s Week finishes on March 10,she explains,she’ll be doing two jobs half time,but once it ends she’ll hit the campaign trail with a vengeance. “I haven’t had any horrible trolling or grief so far,” she says,“but I’m sure it will come. At the moment,it all still feels a bit surreal,to be honest. Stuff keeps coming back from the printers with my smiling mug all over it,and I think,‘Wow. This whole wild journey is actually happening.’ ”
She laughs. “You can get a bit overwhelmed thinking about it. What if I only get 2 per cent of the vote?! Will I ever recover from the humiliation?!” She pauses. “But in the end,I decided that,thankfully,I’m not a career politician – my family and friends aren’t politicians. So if five people vote for me,it will be embarrassing,and then I will then go back to my normal life.”
She smiles,opening out her hands. “I just want to get out there and say what I believe. The simplicity of that is kind of liberating. And powerful.”
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