Call for Justice

My name is Alan Smith, and this is not merely a tale about faulty telephones; it is a harrowing account of ordinary small businesspeople — the COT Four — who found themselves caught in a treacherous battle against one of Australia's largest corporations. For years, Telstra, with its powerful grip on the telecommunications landscape, flatly denied our plight, dismissing each desperate complaint with the same hollow refrain: No fault found...

When I bought the Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp in 1988, I imagined finally realising my lifelong dream. Instead, within weeks, I was met with a deafening silence that was anything but accidental. Customers and suppliers informed me they were unable to reach me. Calls rang unanswered, lines mysteriously went dead, and critical faxes vanished without a trace. What should have blossomed into a flourishing hospitality business became a daily nightmare fuelled by corporate negligence.

Back in the 1990s, business was not conducted over the internet, and mobile phones had not yet surfaced. Had such luxuries existed, the losses suffered by twenty-one Australian small business operators might have been avoided.

When we uncovered the truth surrounding these failures, we naively assumed skilled technicians would swiftly locate and remedy the faults. Instead, we were met with a wall of denial as Telstra played a devilish game of hide‑and‑seek. When we sought accountability, the government and regulatory bodies forced us into arbitration — a process that masqueraded as justice but was a carefully orchestrated trap. Telstra intercepted our communications, withheld vital documents, censored damning evidence, and
treated us as enemies rather than customers in need of help.

As we pressed on in our fight, it became painfully clear: this was not simply about phones. It was about power — a corrupt corporation determined to protect its interests at any cost, and institutions complicit in their wrongdoing, willing to turn a blind eye. What started as a straightforward request — that our phone services operate at a reasonable standard — had devolved into an epic struggle for justice against insurmountable odds.

Dreams Betrayed

Owning the Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp should have been the fulfilment of a cherished childhood dream. I envisioned laughter echoing through the halls, families gathering for holidays, and the satisfaction of building something enduring in the hospitality industry. Instead, almost from the first week, I was confronted with a sinister silence — phones rang without connecting, customers found themselves thwarted by deadlines or recorded messages claiming the number was not connected.

The joy of welcoming guests morphed into a relentless cycle of frustration, as I heard again that they could not even make a booking. Suppliers voiced their frustrations about being unable to reach me, while essential faxes evaporated into thin air or returned as blank pages. What should have thrived was slowly strangled by faults Telstra refused to acknowledge. Each time I reported the issue, the response was chillingly identical: “No fault found.”

It was unfathomable. Phone lines are lifelines; the system was designed to function. Yet my very livelihood was collapsing under the weight of a communication network that had become utterly unreliable. What began as a dream of hospitality and community was cruelly betrayed by negligence and deceit, leaving me to grapple for survival in a business suffocated by silence.

The Farce of Arbitration

When the government finally consented to arbitration, I allowed myself a glimmer of hope that justice might be within reach. Instead, the process unfolded as a sordid charade, designed to protect Telstra and bury our claims beneath layers of obstruction. Evidence was systematically withheld or delivered in such a delayed and heavily censored manner that it was rendered meaningless. Vital conversations were intercepted, crucial faxes vanished, and documents were fabricated to suit their agenda.

The arbitrator, a mere puppet in this corrupt game, ignored the core issues of my claim, no matter how persistently I brought them to light. Regulators stood idly by, impotent in the face of corporate malfeasance, while ministers who had once promised support turned their backs upon assuming power. It became alarmingly clear that the arbitration was not a quest for fairness — it was a deliberate attempt to silence dissent.

Telstra approached me as if I were a common criminal, wielding every tactic to delay, confuse, and exhaust me. What should have been a straightforward assessment of proven faults spiralled into a costly, protracted ordeal. The very system established to deliver justice had transformed into a theatre of injustice, where rules were bent, evidence was tampered with, and accountability was brutally erased.

What emerged was not merely a breakdown of telecommunications but a profound erosion of trust in the very institutions meant to safeguard citizens. This arbitration was not just a farce; it revealed a darker truth: unchecked corporate power, shielded by the complacency of government, has the capacity to turn ordinary lives into battlegrounds, shrouded in treachery and deceit.