The People's Republic of China 

Murdered for Mao: The killings China ‘forgot’

The Letter, the Truth, and the Waiting

In August 1967, I found myself in a situation so precarious, so surreal, that it would etch itself into the marrow of my memory. I was aboard a cargo ship docked in China, surrounded by Red Guards stationed on board twenty-four hours a day, spaced no more than thirty paces apart. After being coerced into writing a confession—declaring myself a U.S. aggressor and a supporter of Chiang Kai-shek, the Nationalist leader in Taiwan—I was told by the second steward, who handled the ship’s correspondence, that I had about two days before a response to my letter might reach me. That response, whatever it might be, would be delivered by the head of the Red Guards himself.

It was the second steward who quietly suggested I write to my parents. I did. I poured myself into 22 foolscap pages, writing with the urgency of a man who believed he might not live to see the end of the week. I told my church-going parents that I was not the saintly 18-year-old they believed I was. I confessed that the woman they had so often thanked in their letters—believing her to be my landlady or carer—was in fact my lover. She was 42. I was 18 when we met. From 1963 to 1967, she had been my anchor, my warmth, my truth. I wrote about my life at sea, about the chaos and the camaraderie, about the loneliness and the longing. I wrote because I needed them to know who I really was, in case I was executed before I ever saw them again.

As the ship’s cook and duty mess room steward, I had a front-row seat to the daily rhythms of life on board. I often watched the crew eat their meals on deck, plates balanced on the handrails that lined the ship. We were carrying grain to China on humanitarian grounds, and yet, the irony was unbearable—food was being wasted while the people we were meant to help were starving. Sausages, half-eaten steaks, baked potatoes—they’d slip from plates and tumble into the sea. But there were no seagulls to swoop down and claim them. They’d been eaten too. The food floated aimlessly, untouched even by fish, which had grown scarce in the harbour. Starvation wasn’t a concept. It was a presence. It was in the eyes of the Red Guards who watched us eat. It was in the silence that followed every wasted bite.

A Tray of Leftovers and a Silent Exchange

After my arrest, I was placed under house arrest aboard the ship. One day, I took a small metal tray from the galley and filled it—not with scraps, but with decent leftovers. Food that would have gone into the stockpot or been turned into dry hash cakes. I walked it out to the deck, placed it on one of the long benches, patted my stomach as if I’d eaten my fill, and walked away without a word.

Ten minutes later, I returned. The tray had been licked clean.

At the next meal, I did it again—this time with enough food for three or four Red Guards. I placed the tray on the bench and left. No words. No eye contact. Just food. I repeated this quiet ritual for two more days, all while waiting for the response to my letter. During that time, something shifted. The Red Guard, who had been waking me every hour to check if I was sleeping, stopped coming. The tension in the air thinned, just slightly. And I kept bringing food—whenever the crew was busy unloading wheat with grappling hooks wrapped in chicken wire, I’d slip out with another tray.

To this day, I don’t know what saved me. It was certainly not the letter declaring myself a U.S. aggressor and a supporter of Chiang Kai-shek, the Nationalist leader in Taiwan. Maybe it was luck. Or perhaps it was that tray of food, offered without expectation, without speech, without condition. A silent gesture that said, “I see you. I know you’re hungry. I know you’re human.”

Hopepeak Crew: Silenced, Dismissed, Forgotten
It matters not that I could have been shot or imprisoned for spying. No government representative has ever asked me to explain what happened in China after I was arrested and falsely accused.

In my correspondence dated 18 September 1967, addressed to the Australian government, I expressed grave concerns about the mental distress endured by many crew members of the Hopepeak after we refused to return to Communist China. We had just delivered 13,600 tons of Australian wheat. The fear of being forced to sail again into a communist nation—knowing the wheat was destined for China and North Vietnam—hung over us, affecting our ability to find work on other vessels for years.

Regrettably, since 1967, no comprehensive government inquiry has ever investigated the consequences faced by the British crew after their dismissal and repatriation to the United Kingdom. They were unable to reintegrate with the company that discharged them. Their story, like mine, was buried.
This is Chapter 7-Vietnam Vietcong: The Viet Cong.

In December 1967, Trade Minister Sir John McEwen became Australia's 18th  Prime Minister. Other Australian Prime Ministers, namely John Howard, have more recently misled and deceived Australian citizens concerning the Iraq War. This misleading and deceiving of Australian citizens has hurt many Australians. The government's refusal to acknowledge what happened in China while delivering Australian wheat is a matter of public interest and should be addressed. I hope my website, absentjustice.com, will achieve this. 

In early September 1967, members of the Hopeprak crew, including myself, took significant and urgent action after we observed the disturbing reshipping of Australian wheat destined for North Vietnam. Recognising the potential implications of this situation, we promptly notified the Seamen’s Union in Australia and the Labour government at the time. Our direct accounts of the events drew considerable attention from the Australian Senate, as once documented in the Senate Hansard on September 6, 1967 - https://shorturl.at/ovEW5, (but has since disappeared from Senate records)

This statement is significant to feature on the absentjustice.com website because it underscores Mr Aldermann, Primary Industry Minister ,'s assertion that the Australian Government appeared unconcerned about the ultimate destination of Australia’s wheat. Alarmingly, it was likely being sent to the North Vietnamese Vietcong, who were in direct conflict with Australian, New Zealand, and American forces during the Vietnam War. I feel compelled to share this statement to highlight the character and priorities of many of Australia's Liberal Coalition politicians. These politicians have consistently overlooked or dismissed the truth surrounding the COT (Contractor's Outrageous Treatment) issue, raising serious questions about their integrity and commitment to accountability.

This Hansard https://shorturl.at/ovEW5 shows Dr Patterson (a minister in opposition) asking Mr Aldermann, the Minister of Primary Industry. 

"What guarantees has the Australian Government that Australian wheat being sent to mainland China is not forwarding China to North Vietnam 

Mr Adermann, on behalf of the Liberal and Country Party government that had authorised this three-year wheat deal to China, answered Dr Patterson as follows:

"The Australian Government does not exercise control over the ultimate destination of goods purchased by foreign buyers"

I can only assume that Mr Alderman did not have a sibling fighting in North Vietnam when he made that statement on behalf of the Australian government.