Someone who makes me feel sick to my stomach is Bevan Spencer Von Einem. When I was a kid, his name was thrown around the schoolyard constantly, and to be honest, the stories terrified me. As an adult, temping around Adelaide, I came across people who had their own theories about who was involved in the so-called Family Murders. Even I went through a period where I thought about it too much, and it was a dark, unsettling experience to let my mind go there. He is a monster.
He’s dying now, and I find it deeply sad—not because of him, but because with his death goes any remaining hope of justice for the families of the other victims of the so-called Family Murders. He looks evil; there is something about his eyes that feels genuinely wicked. His impending death has stirred up a lot of media coverage, and politicians have made comments like “no one will miss him” and “no one will visit his grave.” I agree with all of that.
But something you almost never hear about Von Einem is that he once did a good deed.
On 10 May 1972, Dr George Duncan and Roger James were at a quiet “beat” for gay men along the riverbanks of the Torrens. Homosexual acts were still illegal in South Australia at the time, and it is widely believed that Dr Duncan and Mr James were thrown into the river by police officers. Dr Duncan drowned. Mr James managed to crawl to the riverbank, injured, traumatised, and fighting for his life.
Then something extraordinary happened: Von Einem saw him, pulled over, and drove him to the Royal Adelaide Hospital. No one has ever been convicted of this horrific crime.
I still find it unbelievable that Von Einem did that. When I first learned about it, it made me look at him differently—not sympathetically, but with a kind of deep confusion. It made me ask impossible questions: can someone be good and bad at the same time? Why would a man capable of such unfathomable cruelty choose to save one life while destroying others? What does that say about how fragmented, contradictory, and messy the human condition truly is?
But the truth is this: driving a traumatised man to the hospital does not redeem him. It cannot balance out the crimes he committed or the crimes many believe he committed. He is, in essence, an evil person who once performed a single good deed. And his bad deeds completely invalidate whatever momentary humanity he may have shown that night.
Lately I’ve been a little reflective about life. I was thinking about my years as a Young Liberal. When I was a kid—maybe eleven or so—I came up with the idea of creating a group for ultra-young Liberals called “Mini Libs.” I even remember standing in front of a room full of senior Liberals, giving a speech about the benefits of a children’s wing that could complement the Young Liberals. I worked with the Young Liberal president for a while to try to bring it to life, but nothing ever happened.
By the time I turned sixteen it felt inevitable that I would join the Young Liberals proper, and so I did. But the truth is, at sixteen it was the last thing on my mind. I only joined because I felt pressure to. I went to the meetings, I voted where I was told to vote, and I somehow found myself in the conservative faction. I hardly understood what that even meant, except that the conservatives around me were rigid, arrogant, and overwhelmingly male.
Unlike so many others, I drifted in and out. They were all working for MPs, studying law or commerce, or heading toward professional careers. Meanwhile I was working at the Service SA call centre — the government switchboard. I didn’t have a degree, and I’m sure many of them looked down on me, even if they never said it outright.
I was on State Council for a year, and during that time I cast a vote in the preselection where Cory Bernardi and Simon Birmingham were competing for a Senate spot. Because I was in the conservative faction — and barely understood what that meant — I voted for Cory. Now, I would never in a million years vote for someone with his views, even though he and his wife are perfectly lovely in person.
The whole thing was factions, power games, jumped-up would-be intellectuals, and ambitious young people who would sell their souls for a seat in Parliament. I’m still technically a Liberal Party member 28 years later, but only for sentimental reasons. The truth is, being a Young Liberal has to be one of the worst ways you can spend your youth. And now so many of the older generation make me deeply ashamed to have any association with the party at all.
I just read on The Advertiser online that the Speaker of the South Australian Parliament, Leon Bignell, is quitting politics. I’ve actually had a book of oaths from parliaments around the world professionally bound for him, and now I’m suddenly aware of the clock ticking. Today was the final sitting day before next year’s election — the one he won’t be contesting — so I’m hoping I can still get the book to him before he steps away for good.
The book is currently at a scanning place, where they’re digitising all the oaths so I can keep a copy for myself. As soon as I get it back, I’ll send it straight to the Mawson electorate office.
