The Business of Athletes

By Matt Dawson

Australia is a nation of avid sport watchers. For us, sport is all about entertainment. But professional sport is also big business and behind almost every success story is an athlete manager.

It was not until the late 1990s, in the lead-up to the Sydney Olympics, that the athlete management profession really took off in Australia. Previously most athletes saw having a manager or agent as an unnecessary expense.  

Apart from those engaged by international stars like Greg Norman, Kieran Perkins, Pat Rafter and a handful of footballers, athlete managers were an unknown commodity. 

Wayne Loxley, owner of White Line Management, has been an athlete manager for 17 years. He started his career as a teacher, working with special needs students for seven years before moving into coaching, fitness and administrative roles at Subiaco Football Club, in the Western Australian Football League (WAFL).

It was his interest in mentoring young footballers that led him into the burgeoning profession.

“I have always had an interest in the development of young people. I started back in 1996 with a mate of mine. We embarked on managing footballers initially. We moved onto other athletes or sports people as we went along,” he says.

Three-time World Champion boxer Danny Green with Manager
Wayne Loxley after a fight (supplied by Wayne Loxley)

At the height of his career, Wayne Loxley had 25 AFL players on his books, along with a few athletes from individual sports.  Three-time boxing world champion, Danny Green is the most internationally renowned, and according to Mr Loxley, an athlete who demonstrated mental strength rarely seen.  He worked as part of the ‘Green Machine’ team for 11 years where he was responsible for Danny Green’s media and promotions.

Athletes competing overseas, such as NBA basketballer Andrew Bogut, are generally Australia’s highest paid sports people.  Mr Bogut, a 29-year-old Melburnian, recently negotiated a three year contract, reported to be worth $44 million.

However behind Australia’s sports superstars, the household names, there is a cast of thousands of athletes, many competing in Olympic sports, trying to earn enough money from their sport to make ends meet.

“If you are getting into the business purely to make money, you are getting into it for the wrong reasons. That is one of the problems with the industry now,” Mr Loxley says.

Domestically, the Australian Football League (AFL) is the most financially lucrative. It is the football code with the biggest television audiences and the most teams.  There are 840 players in the AFL whose careers, on average, will last just six years. In 2012, the average player salary was $251,000.

Player managers normally take a three to five per cent cut for negotiating a client’s playing contract with a club. To manage the affairs of a middle-of-the-road AFL player, they are looking at between $7,500 and $12,500 per year.

“You might get 10 to 20 per cent of any sponsorship, marketing or media opportunities, but the only players who get those are the very good ones. The majority of players don’t get those extra endorsements,” Mr Loxley says.

Sam Maxwell, 25, who owns his own sports management company in Perth, agrees that AFL offers the best financial opportunities but can be a challenging industry.

“The flipside is that it is so competitive. It is hard to break into the industry. AFL’s a bit of a boy’s club. If you are someone who doesn’t have AFL industry experience, it can be a little bit tougher,” Mr he says.

Mr Maxwell, who studied law at the University of Western Australia, always thought he would start his career as a lawyer.

“I probably never set out to be an athlete manager. It’s not something I planned for. Because of my own sporting background and who I grew up with, I knew a lot of high level athletes,” Mr Maxwell says.

He studied law with Matt Ebden, a 26-year-old professional tennis player with a career high ranking of 61.  Certainly not a household name, Mr Ebden had his best year on the ATP circuit in 2012, earning over US$450,000 in prize money.

Sam Maxwell (left) with Matt Ebden (bow tie) at a Tennis
Australia Awards Night (supplied by Sam Maxwell)

“He and I were good friends and coming towards the end of our law studies, I was just helping with a couple of small contracts. I really enjoyed that. One athlete went to two, and it probably wasn’t until I had six or seven on my books that I thought I could make a business or a career out of it,” Mr Maxwell says.

He manages athletes in swimming, track and field, cricket and tennis. Among them are world champions, Olympians and national representatives.

But the money he makes from managing the affairs of his 13 athletes is not enough to sustain his business. He employs two staff, one part-time, to assist him with school tennis coaching and sports event management, his other business interests.

“The only time you make a little bit as a retainer is to help the guys with their travel and competition schedule. You might do the contract between them and their coach. But you don’t take a commission on that. The only time you are actually getting paid is when they get a paid sponsorship,” Mr Maxwell says.

Australian athlete managers’ lives rarely resemble that of Jerry Maguire. It is less “show me the money” and more daily grind, ruing missed opportunities and sweating on obscure results.

Tennis sponsorship contracts often contain triggers for re-negotiation based on ATP world rankings.

“A lot of contracts have a trigger at 50 or 60 in world. When you get to that point, you start negotiating a pretty sizeable deal,” Mr Maxwell says.

Last year, he was left sweating on an obscure tennis match result at a tournament in the US.  A win would have meant one of his clients breaking into the top 60 and opening up substantial commercial opportunities.  However, the match went to three sets and his client lost.

Mr Maxwell says the prerogative of an athlete and manager is often different. The athlete focuses on the process of improving as a player, knowing the ranking will look after itself if they get that right.

“You want that to happen too because you know if they keep improving, they will get those deals. But especially when it’s that fine, you think, ‘well had it been that one extra result, it would have made a big difference’,” he says.

Ending a long time association with an athlete amicably is another challenge managers face.

“It comes down to the type of relationship you have had along the way. Footballers, once they get to 28 or 30, are young men who are married and have got their own lives. You are trying to get them through those earlier years where their life does change quickly because of income, fame and media interest. You are trying to help them through that transition period,” Wayne Loxley says.

Mr Loxley is currently taking long-service leave from his role as Chief Executive Officer of Athletics Western Australia.  He has managed to successfully combine this role with his athlete management work.

“I was fortunate that the Board of AWA was good enough to let me combine both. As long as you are getting the job done, that is the most important thing,” he says.

Today, his firm operates on a much smaller scale, currently looking after West Coast’s Josh Kennedy as well as four mid-range AFL players.

Sam Maxwell is currently considering a takeover offer from a large sports management firm.  The deal would give him more financial security but would result in a loss of autonomy.  His crop of athletes would sign on with the firm, which already has more than 70 athletes on its books.   

Athlete managers gain a rare insight into the attributes needed to succeed in professional sport. According to Wayne Loxley, the characteristics of a champion often transcend the playing field.

“The most successful people are often the best people. They are not trying to be anything they are not. They are natural in what they are doing, they work hard but they also respect and appreciate other people and their skills. Those athletes become family friends almost; you invite them around for dinner. You get to know them on a personal level,” he says.

Methods of an Unassuming Sleuth

By Matt Dawson

“If you have a curiosity about life and a curiosity about how things really work, it is great to get to the bottom of it,” says Kate McClymont, one of the country’s most renowned investigative reporters.

Earlier in the day, she was in the NSW Supreme Court to hear a procedural ruling about a witness called to appear in the murder trial against wealthy property developer Ron Medich.  Ms McClymont, a journalist at the Sydney Morning Herald, has been hot on the case since before the shooting of underworld figure Michael McGurk in the driveway of his Cremorne home on 3 September 2009.

“When you are in the middle of a really intense story, it is all consuming. You work 18 hours a day; you get up in the morning, you are thinking about it, you wake up at night, you are thinking about it. It just completely takes over your life,” she says.

Photo: Kate with her 2012 Walkley Award for Best
Print News Report. Supplied: Adam Hollingsworth
& The Walkley Foundation

Ms McClymont grew up on a farm in Orange, attending the local high school before going to boarding school at Frensham in the Southern Highlands.

  

She started out her professional life at a publishing company, hoping to pursue her great love of literature. But life as a junior staffer in a publishing house was not all it was cut out to be.       

 “I hated every minute of it. It was completely boring,” she says.

Assigned the task of writing encyclopaedia entries, she made it up to the letter ‘C’ before resigning from the company. But not before leaving a parting test for the sub-editors. Her name found its way into the encyclopaedia under the letter ‘N’, in the section for Nobel Prize winners.

“When I later picked up a copy in a bookshop, I noticed that sadly someone had removed that entry,” she says.

It was not until her early 20s that Ms McClymont decided that she wanted to become a journalist. One of her first forays into the world of investigation came as a junior reporter on the ABC’s Four Corners program, where she worked for two years in the late 1980s. The team included high calibre journalists such as Paul Barry, Chris Masters and Mark Colvin. 

On 11 May 1987, Four Corners broadcast The Moonlight State, exposing systematic corruption within the Queensland Police. The Judicial Inquiry that ensued ran for two years, resulting in two Queensland Ministers being sent to jail, a Police Commissioner being charged with corruption and the National Party being booted out of office for the first time in 32 years.

Mr Masters was the reporter in The Moonlight State. He worked for the ABC for 43 years, including 25 years with Four Corners.

“Kate shared that dramatic time with us and maybe it was then she saw just what journalism could achieve. The motto was simple: aim high and tell them what they didn’t know yesterday,” Mr Masters says.

In Ms McClymont’s line of work, threats to personal safety do arise and have disrupted her family life on several occasions. Her husband is a book publisher and her three children, two girls and one boy, are currently studying full time, two at university and one doing the HSC.

“I never think of myself as being courageous. I just try to be thorough and do my job diligently. There definitely is a sense of personal satisfaction that comes from uncovering a good story, especially when people you are writing about are trying everything they can to stop it getting out,” she says.

On 24 August 2002, Ms McClymont and her SMH colleagues, Anne Davies and Brad Walter broke the story about deliberate breaches of its player salary cap by NRL team, the Canterbury Bulldogs. The Bulldogs were effectively thrown out of the competition for the season and fined $500,000, on the eve of the NRL Finals.

Tempers among diehard fans ran high and the police advised Ms McClymont that her family would need to vacate their home. At the time, she was in the middle of filing a story and her husband, was hosting a work cocktail function.

Her family ended up staying one night at a budget motel on George Street, next to the Event Cinema complex.  The nearby serviced apartments in Double Bay were not within budget, her employer Fairfax advised.

“The place was a complete dive. The next morning the children were excited when they thought they had found gold under the bed; it turned out to be bottle caps,” she says.

“My husband has been incredibly supportive. He understands the importance of my work and feels strongly that journalism is a just profession. There is no way I could do what I do without the absolute support of my family,” she says.

Bringing her talent for forensic research to bear, Ms McClymont has written extensively on the activities of a colourful cast of characters.  Over the years she has followed the legal sagas of the likes of Eddie Obeid, Ron Medich, John Marsden QC and Michael Williamson.

“The Obeids, for instance; I have been following them now for almost 15 years. You always keep an eye on what they are up to and people always give you tips,” Ms McClymont says.

Mr Obeid won a defamation case against Ms McClymont and her employer, Fairfax, over an article published in August 2002. The story was co-written by Anne Davies.  The court ordered a substantial damages payment. It was one of the most difficult moments in her career.

“I was absolutely devastated, I felt like a failure as a journalist,” Ms McClymont says.

For a long time, she believed that the verdict meant she could no longer pursue the Obeid story, describing it as “the worst thing that ever happened to me”.

“But you just have to get over that and move on,” Ms McClymont says.

As a fellow journalist, Mr Masters knows what the life of a serial defendant is like.  His involvement in the Moonlight State program netted him 13 years worth of litigation.

“Both Kate and I have experienced ‘death by a thousand courts’. Being a professional defendant and a witness can be very demoralising,” Mr Masters says.

Subsequent events prove it was a pyrrhic victory for Mr Obeid. 

In July this year, the Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) made adverse findings against Mr Obeid over his involvement in the creation of mining tenements on farm land owned by his family. In October, ICAC announced three new investigations into Mr Obeid’s misuse of his position as a Member of Parliament for financial gain between 2000 and 2011. Public hearings began on 28 October.

The Obeid hearings will bring Ms McClymont back to familiar surroundings.  She may even hold the record for most attendances at ICAC.

“I remember the first one I went to was in about 1991, or maybe even earlier. I have been to a lot. I think I have caused about four,” she says.

Linton Besser, a fellow investigative reporter and 2010 Walkley Award winner, worked alongside Ms McClymont for seven years at the Sydney Morning Herald.

“Kate doesn’t mind dealing with the bad guys and isn’t afraid to pursue them. She has a wonderful sense of optimism and fun, no matter what the situation is.  She is also hugely generous in sharing her methods and contacts with colleagues,” he says.

He says that to be successful, investigative reporters need to have an obsessive streak.

“You have to spend time reading a company’s annual report, not just the executive summary, but the whole thing, the appendices. Then you need to go back and read previous annual reports, forensically compare the data and look for discrepancies,” he says.

Back in 2002, after Ms McClymont got wind of suggestions that former Prime Minister, Paul Keating and his speechwriter and biographer, Don Watson had fallen over the publication of the latter’s book, Recollections of a Bleeding Heart, she wrote a piece in SMH column, Sauce.

Mr Keating took umbrage at her article. In typical Keating style, he fired off a retort, musing on whether Ms McClymont was underemployed at Fairfax and suggesting that she had time to “sniff bike seats down at Darling Harbour” and complimented her ability to “smell subterranean odours”.

“I have never sniffed a bike seat in my life! I think it says more about him than it does about me,” she says.

Ms McClymont’s court reports have attracted a cult following among SMH readers. She has the ability to add humour and point out the absurd. The various court proceedings against the five men accused of conspiring to murder Michael McGurk have offered rich pickings.

“I have always found the funny side to a story, no matter how serious. Humour has proven a good technique for getting people to share information, when they otherwise would not,” she says.

Her investigations into the activities of the Health Services Union took an interesting twist when a school parent got in touch to pass on some intelligence about HSU National President, Michael Williamson.

According to the source, it wasn’t so much that Mr Williamson had five children at private school, nor than he and his wife drove luxury Mercedes, or even that they travelled first class; the clincher according to the parent was that “they always outbid everyone at the school auction”.

“I thought, that is actually unusual for a union boss, so when I started looking I found that the union’s architect had also done all the renovation works for Mr Williamson’s house at Maroubra and his beach house,” she says.

A subsequent Australian Securities and Investments Commission (ASIC) registry search revealed that Mr Williamson owned a company that was quietly supplying IT services to the union and his financial interests were not disclosed in the HSU’s annual report.

“Once you start running things, more people start ringing to provide information and it actually develops a bit of a snowball effect,” Ms McClymont says.

According to her, it is a myth that investigative journalism is special or different.

“It just takes longer.  You need more patience, more resources and more understanding from your bosses because not everything turns out. You might embark upon something and it is a failure. It is just daily reporting times 10 really,” she says.

Earlier this month, Ms McClymont won the Fairfax Woman of Influence Award.

“She is deeply feared by both society's underbelly crooks and even the crims who walk the corridors of power,” Fairfax Chief Executive Greg Hywood said.

In making the presentation, Mr Hywood described her as “a genuine giant of journalism in Australia”.

Also published at Reportage Online (website of the Australian Centre for Independent Journalism (ACIJ)):
http://www.reportageonline.com/2013/11/methods-of-an-unassuming-sleuth/

Finding a way out of the spiral of shame

By Matt Dawson

Justine Rogers took her audience on a journey into the ‘shame spiral’ during her Sydney Fringe Festival show at the Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

Set among used car yards, smash repairers and non-descript warehouses, the Factory Theatre captures the essence of what the ‘fringe’ means in a city. Posters and signs show attention to detail, setting an ‘underground’ vibe. Red neon lights guide people through the labyrinth of makeshift theatres to the show.



Justine Rogers in action
Photo supplied: Jeremy Belinfante

Justine’s show Shame You’re the Worst details her emotional experience after a man dumped her via email.

“He didn’t even start a new thread, so the subject line of the email was RE: Hey. Outlook had indented all our previous email correspondence into an archaeological dig of romantic disaster,” she told the audience.

Shame and guilt are different, she says. As explained using PowerPoint slides and a Venn diagram, she says guilt occurs when we “think what we did was shit” while shame happens when we “think we are shit”. Shame is not a primal extinct but a social construct, according to Justine.

A law lecturer by day, comedian and science buff by night, Justine Roger’s tale of rejection happened while she was doing her PhD thesis at Oxford University. It resulted in this, her first big solo show.

Fellow comedian Mikey Robins, best known for appearing on the ABC’s Good News Week, sees a bright future for Justine.

“Most people would describe Justine's material as edgy but I actually find it quite charming. There's a wit and intelligence behind those gags that is very refreshing,” he says.

Mr Robins believes that today’s stand-up comedy scene is more inclusive and less male-dominated than in the past.

“It really used to be a boys’ club, with the occasional woman in the line-up. These days it’s much better not only with more women but also a much greater degree of cultural diversity than ever before,” he says.

Justine spoke about her show’s themes and her motivation for exploring the social world.

“Part of the motivation to look at other people’s behaviour is to understand your own. People looking at the social world are naturally analytical, and for good or ill probably turn that analysis inwards,” Justine says.

Being a twin and a middle child in a family of eight, Justine believes the roles we adopt in our youth shape the ways we interpret the social world.

“The eldest from big families are comfortable saying what they mean and sticking to it. The youngest enjoy being adored and are more confident. For the middle lot, all the roles are taken, so they learn to observe and develop a better understanding of what is going on around them,” she says.

Her material is thoroughly researched and draws on theories of sociology to cut to the essence of social interaction.  Her one hour show is lighthearted but challenges audience members to assess their own sense of self-worth and the emotion of shame. Using charts, pictures and diagrams, Justine explains why people feel shame.

Photo supplied: Justine Rogers

Earlier this year, Justine challenged orthodoxy at TEDx Sydney by delivering a parody speech detailing the key ingredients of how to make an inspiring TED talk.

“I am disappointed. None of the other talks today followed the six-point formula that I have devised. First of all, the introduction; your introduction needs a childhood anecdote. And make sure that the anecdote barely connects to your topic,” she said.

TED talks have attracted many high profile speakers, including Richard Branson, Bill Gates and Jane Goodall. According to its website TED “is a US based not-for-profit enterprise devoted to the propagation of ideas worth spreading”.

“It’s not about TED. I learn from and share TED talks. The speakers and artists at TEDx Sydney were brilliant. I just like to poke fun at things that have gotten stuck, where people are holding onto an attitude a bit too tightly,” she says.

“But it is always punching up. TED’s stronger than me; they are okay with or without my jabs.”

Justine also performed at this year’s Adelaide Fringe in show called Aggressively Helpful along with fellow comedians Alice Fraser and Alex Wasiel.

“Justine's comedy is filled with honest recounts of her own bizarre, heartbreaking and raw experiences,” Alex Wasiel says.

Alex believes her exploration of the social world works, “because, ultimately, comedy is about truth, surprising truths.”

Looking for the man behind the sign

A view from the Sydney Harbour Bridge:
Sirius Complex, 44 Cumberland Street, The Rocks

By Matt Dawson

If you have travelled across Sydney Harbour Bridge in a car, on a bus or on a train in the last 15 years, the chances are you have seen it. It is visible throughout the day and illuminated at night.

The sign, ‘One Way! Jesus’, is clearly visible to Harbour Bridge commuters. Its constant presence has crept into the psyche of thousands of commuters.

The city’s streetscape is littered with signs. Signs are a vital part of our lives. They direct us, educate us, persuade us, inform us, cajole us, bully us. They offer us a sense of place and routine – and sometimes even comfort. Most are official signs erected by the agencies of authority.

But “One Way! Jesus’ is a private sign. It sits in the window of No.74, a top floor apartment in the Sirius apartment building in Cumberland Street, Millers Point. The occupant proves to be as elusive as the message delivered by the sign itself.

It is my fourth visit to Sirius to meet the man behind the sign. Despite a letter, a note via a friendly neighbour, dozens of calls on the external intercom and persistent door knocking, an eerie silence emanates from No. 74.

I have strategically spread my visits across different times of the day – early morning, late morning, mid-afternoon, late afternoon — in the hope of meeting him.

My expectations of uncovering an exceptional subject to interview are low.  The prospect of receiving a refusal to talk does not faze me. But being ignored, that irks me. I complimented his dedication to ‘spreading the word’ in my letter. I pointed out that his sign has been seen by hundreds of thousands of Sydneysiders. Surely his Christian faith compels him to acknowledge my correspondence? Isn’t it hypocritical to promote your message to the world-at-large but eschew human contact?

Maybe I am reading too much into this. Maybe he has moved out or is sick in hospital?  Is it all an elaborate hoax? Could it be that he does not exist? After all, his neighbours offer me only scant detail about him and his movements.

Monday, 10 am. A small woman wearing a yellow beanie and oversized navy sweater walks out of the building. She is carrying green calico bags. She has lived in the building since it opened in 1980, but seems only vaguely aware of the Jesus sign. 

Wednesday, 3 pm. Kelly, another resident who has lived at Sirius since 1999, knows the man in No. 74.

“He is a committed Christian just trying to get his message across. So many people I meet say to me, ‘Oh, you live in that building with the Jesus sign at the top? Yes, I know the one’.” But that’s all I get from Kelly.

Thursday, 9.30 am. An elderly woman with a walking frame recalls him doing her a good deed. Recently she left a set of keys in the mailbox downstairs and he took them up to her apartment.

Monday, 10 am. I meet a male resident who isn’t so congenial.

“That nitwit with the Jesus thing in his window? Yeah, I see him around a bit. He doesn’t say much, he’s a bit of a recluse,” he says.

Monday, 10.45 am. Finally, there is a breakthrough.  Great-grandfather Johnny, 86, dressed in a white polo shirt tucked into brown corduroy pants, is engaged in lively conversation with a female postal worker. He is in exceptional shape for his 86 years, given that just five months ago he had open heart surgery.

View of Circular Quay from the Heritage Room, Level 8, Sirius Apartments

Johnny knows the man in No. 74 well. He even knows his name. In 2010, the two had a disagreement about visitor access to the prized Heritage Room, overlooking the Opera House and Circular Quay. As a result, they agreed to a mediation session at the Sydney Community Justice Centre and have now committed to treat one another with neighbourly respect.

While I now know the identity of the man in No. 74, he remains unseen and his purpose a mystery. The only insight to be gleaned is that he is learning to love thy neighbour.  

Three words to start a conversation

By Matt Dawson

Circular Quay was a sea of yellow t-shirts on 12 September, as volunteers asked morning commuters one simple, thought-provoking question: ‘are you okay?’.

R U OK? Day, the brainchild of advertising executive Gavin Larkin who died at 42 of lymphoma, aims to raise awareness about suicide prevention by encouraging people to start a conversation about mental health issues.

According to Janina Kearns, Chief Executive Officer of R U OK? Foundation, post-event awareness has increased from 11 per cent in 2010 to 68 per cent in 2012.

“R U OK? Day in 2013 was all about creating year-round conversations. We wanted people to talk, tweet, text and blog about the conversations that change lives, and encourage one another to ask people 'are you ok?' regularly and meaningfully,” Ms Kearns says.

The centrepiece of this year’s public display in Sydney was a ‘conversation pit’ filled with yellow and black rubber balls outside Customs House. Ambassadors like singer Damien Leith and NSW Mental Health Minister Kevin Humphries were miked up and thrust into the pit for a ‘good old yarn’.

The Conversation Pit, Customs House, Circular Quay

“R U OK? Day works so well because it is simple, fun and people can identify with the concept. It is also a reminder that we get better outcomes when there is a community response and ownership of the solutions. Suicide prevention cannot be dealt with by the healthcare system alone,” Mr Humphries says.

In 2012 R U OK? Day Foundation won the inaugural Don Ritchie Suicide Prevention Award, receiving $10,000 from NSW Department of Health. The award recognises Mr Ritchie’s efforts to stop suicide attempts at the Gap, near his home in Watsons Bay. Over 45 years, of his own volition, Mr Ritchie saved hundreds of lives by convincing people not to jump. He died in 2012 aged 86.

Irish born singer Damien Leith worked with Gavin Larkin’s brother Aya, in the music industry in the United States and has been involved with the event since it began.

“Most of us know someone who was been afflicted by depression and seen them go through difficult moments in their life. If nothing else, this event reminds us that a simple conversation goes a long way,” Mr Leith says.

Research suggests that people experiencing suicidal feelings are less likely to act on their impulses if they have strong relationships.

Motivated to act after his own father’s suicide, Gavin Larkin launched the initiative at Parliament House, Canberra in 2009. Barry Larkin committed suicide in 1995. He was well-respected in the world of advertising and, like his son Gavin, was described as an “alpha male”.

Gavin’s emotional tale was told on ABC’s Australian Story in September 2011. During the program he admitted to being “a bit of a prick” during his youth but when diagnosed with lymphoma (stage 4) in early 2010, he began to re-evaluate the priorities in his life.

After enduring over a dozen rounds of chemotherapy, Mr Larkin passed away at age 42, just days after Australian Story went to air.

Joe Hildebrand, a News Limited journalist, is another media identity putting his name to the cause this year.

“When a friend is in trouble, we need to ensure the lines of communication are open. We need to do more to de-stigmatise mental health conditions and ensure that if someone gets into a place of helplessness, they know it is okay to talk about it,” Mr Hildebrand says.

Asked what experience he has had with mental health issues, Mr Hildebrandt quipped, “like most journalists and writers, I suffer from many of them”.

On a serious note, Mr Hildebrandt described the recent funeral of a ‘friend of a friend’ who committed suicide as a harrowing experience and “an event that no one wants to go to”.

“If he felt he could have talked to someone, maybe the outcome would have been different,” Mr Hildebrandt says.

10 October is World Mental Health Day.

MP shines a light on suicide prevention

Matt Kean MP, Member for Hornsby talking to students at Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Youth Forum 

“If six Australians drowned every day there would be a national outcry. I want New South Wales to spend as much money on suicide prevention campaigns as it does on road safety campaigns,” Matt Kean, State Member for Hornsby told NSW Parliament on 16 June 2011.

The start of Mr Kean’s political career was marred by tragedy when Mike Powell, an 18-year-old campaign worker, took his own life in May 2011. 

The suicide of Mike Powell shocked everyone around him. A popular young man, he was studying accounting at the University of Technology Sydney and about to embark on a traineeship with accountancy firm, Price Waterhouse Coopers (PwC). Mike was part of Mr Kean’s campaign team for the seat of Hornsby during the 2011 State Election.

Mr Kean used his inaugural speech to commemorate Mike’s life and call on the Government to improve services for suicide prevention. More than two years later, Mr Kean reflects on what progress has been on the issue.

“What I am proud of is that my maiden speech started a conversation within government and started a conversation in the community and put suicide prevention smack bang on the State Government’s agenda.

“We still have a very long way to go in reducing the rate of suicide in this country, which is still higher than the national road toll. I think it is a national disgrace,” says Mr Kean.

In April, Mr Kean hosted the first Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Youth Forum where 300 high school students got the opportunity to talk about mental health issues with their peers and hear from experts in the field, like Professor John Mendoza, inaugural Chair of the Federal Government’s National Advisory Council on Mental Health.

The NSW Ombudsman’s annual report identified 16 suicide deaths among 14 to 17 year olds in NSW during 2011. Since 1998, there has been no sustained reduction in the annual rates.

The NSW Mental Health Commission is developing a Strategic Plan in consultation with community stakeholders. The plan will be presented to the State Government in March 2014.

Professor Mendoza wants to see clear targets and goals set in the Commission’s Strategic Plan.

“No more spray and pray in relation to this effort. There are high and very high risk groups. The strategy must have specific efforts to reduce the risk and ultimately rate of suicide in these populations. The impact will almost be immediate with well targeted strategies,” Prof Mendoza says. 

R U OK? Day, an initiative of Australian Gavin Larkin, was held across Australia on Thursday 12 September. 

Also published at Reportage Online (website of the Australian Centre for Independent Journalism (ACIJ)): http://www.reportageonline.com/2013/09/are-you-okay/