Journalist Simon Townsend has died aged 79 only a few months after being diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. A statement released by his family reported “In his final days, Simon was surrounded by his family and a mix of journalists, writers, actors, political activists and Italians”.

Townsend is best remembered for hosting the Logie-winning children’s show Wonder World from 1979 until 1987.

But it is equally important to focus on his time as a political activist and conscientious objector during the Vietnam War. When Townsend was a fledgling journalist in his early 20s, he fought fearlessly against the draft and was imprisoned twice for his pacifist beliefs.

Conscientious objection

On November 24 1964, Liberal prime minister Robert Menzies re-introduced conscription through the National Service Act. It became mandatory for men turning 20 to register for national service.

Of the more than 800,000 who registered, 64,000 eventually served.

Approximately 14,000 refused to register for a variety of reasons. Refusal was a crime punishable by up to two years in prison, unless an exemption was granted on the grounds of conscientious objection, generally connected to religious belief.

Others registered, but claimed conscientious objection before they attended their standard military medical examination. Townsend registered as required by law in 1965 and immediately attempted to claim conscientious objector status on the grounds of pacifism.

This was refused by a judge in 1966 who said he was “not sincere”. The judge ordered Townsend to attend his medical examination. Townsend refused. He was sent to serve a one month prison sentence at Sydney’s Long Bay Gaol in early 1967.

On his release, Townsend again applied for an exemption. Again, he was unsuccessful. In February 1968, he refused to attend his next medical. In March, Townsend disobeyed an order to report for military duty. He was charged in the Special Federal Court in Sydney on May 15 and imprisoned again.

The Abolish Conscription Campaign

Four days later, Townsend wrote a letter to the Sydney protest group Abolish Conscription Campaign, reporting eight prison guards constantly watched over him and woke him up every two hours for his “wellbeing”.

He said he was “pretty miserable”, but his brother had sought help from Labor politicians Gough Whitlam and Len Devine, who paid Townsend a visit in support.

On June 10 1968 the Abolish Conscription Campaign organised a “major protest” to “demonstrate for the release of all conscientious objectors and the abolition of conscription”. Activists marched from Liverpool Station to Ingleburn Military Camp, where Townsend was being held ahead of his June 14 court date.

On this date, Townsend’s application for conscientious objector status was accepted – the court no doubt influenced by the increasing public attention his case had attracted.

Townsend approached his legal difficulties with courage and generosity. Between his two stints in prison, he formed Sydney’s Conscientious Objectors’ Group. Townsend, along with fellow activists including Quakers, feminists and pacifists, used their time and energy providing information to conscientious objectors facing court.

‘The Unconscriptables’

After Townsend’s release, he continued to fight against the National Service Act.

In August 1968 he joined the Caravan Against Conscription, which saw Sydney activists travel through rural New South Wales to spread the anti-war message.

In the next month Townsend helped to form a group called The Unconscriptables, “open to all those young men who face civil gaol because of a responsible and conscientious decision not to comply with the National Service Act”.

Townsend later supported Unconscriptable Geoff Mullen when he unsuccessfully stood for the federal seat of Wentworth in the October 1969 election. In an act of resistance, Mullen was running against Liberal minister for labour and national service, Leslie Bury.

Selfless action

During my State Library of New South Wales Fellowship research into quiet protest during the Vietnam War, I came across a court summons addressed to teacher, activist and former NSW Teachers Federation President Samuel Phineas Lewis, signed by Simon Townsend.

I became fascinated not only by Townsend’s personal story, but also his willingness to selflessly act on behalf of other young men impelled to fight in a war they did not believe in.

This court summons represents one of many protest actions performed by Townsend as Secretary of the Committee in Defiance of the National Service Act, formed in July 1969.

At their first meeting in Sydney Town Hall, Townsend, along with Committee leader Ken Thomas (an activist and businessman who, in 1946, established KW Thomas Transport, later known as Thomas Nationwide Transport or TNT), and 70 others including barristers, academics, unionists, housewives and clergymen, publicly signed a Statement of Defiance proclaiming their ongoing support for men who evaded conscription.

In encouraging others to break the law, they intentionally contravened the Crimes Act in the hope the time taken to prosecute them in court would delay any legal action towards young conscientious objectors.

Eventually 8,000 Australians made Statements of Defiance, were reported by Committee members to authorities and were fined or summonsed to appear in court. The Liberal Government soon became wise to the Committee’s scheme and ceased reacting.

These relatively quiet protest acts were hugely impactful and incredibly brave.

Townsend continued to fight against the National Service Act until Prime Minister Gough Whitlam abolished conscription as his first order of business following his December 2 1972 election win. This was while working as a reporter for This Day Tonight, a position he held from 1970 until the launch of Wonder World.

The loss of Simon Townsend is deeply felt in this country, not only for his journalism but also for his fearless activism. Vale.

Effie Karageorgos, Senior Lecturer in History, University of Newcastle

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Originally known as 2JJ, or Double Jay, when it launched in Sydney at 11am on January 19 1975, Triple J has since become the national youth network. The station now encompasses broadcast radio, live events, social media and a huge digital and cultural influence. It’s been the beating heart (or beating drum, as its logo depicts) of generations of young Australians.

With a target audience of 18–24-year-olds (ish), what does it mean when the national youth broadcaster hits middle age?

A station for young Australians

Triple J was born out of the Whitlam government’s commitment to young Australians. In addition to lowering the voting age from 21 to 18, the introduction of a dedicated space for young people provided by the national broadcaster allowed for greater cultural and civic participation.

The first song played on air was You Just Like Me ‘Cos I’m Good in Bed by Skyhooks. Banned by commercial networks for its explicit sex and drug themes, the ABC – not beholden to advertisers – pushed boundaries by starting with this song.

The station became known as Triple J in 1981 when it shifted to FM radio, and the move to become a national network started in 1990, rolling out across the decade.

A station for Australian talent

People like Mark Colvin, Wil Anderson, Zan Rowe, Myf Warhurst, Judith Lucy, Roy and HG and Dr Karl all got their start at Triple J, often moving beyond the right “look or sound” for the commercial networks.

Triple J’s influence on Australian musical culture is almost impossible to understate.

Playlists for Australian music have been consistently and significantly higher than commercial competition.

The station has long run programs designed to support local artists. Cooking with George, a new Australian music show in the early 1980s hosted by George Wayne, created a platform for new artists to connect with audiences.

The Long Live the Evolution campaign in the early 1980s encouraged audiences to buy Australian music by offering a free Australian music compilation record with purchase of any Australian album.

The new talent competition Unearthed began in 1995 and now counts among its alumni Missy Higgins, Flume and Grinspoon.

One Night Stand is a semi-regular festival the station takes to different regional or rural Australian towns. The station’s coverage of festivals like Big Day Out and Splendour in the Grass provided a way for audiences who couldn’t afford to attend to still listen along.

A station for chaos, and youth politics

The appeal has always been the energy, if not occasional chaos, of having young people in charge and on air.

Clashes with ABC management have been inevitable. A memo distributed internally in 1976, and redistributed in 1979, gave “a very stroppy reminder to all staff of our self-imposed rule – NO DOPE IN THE OFFICE OR STUDIO!!”

In 1989, presenters protested the censorship of N.W.A.’s Fuck Tha Police. To show their objections, staff played N.W.A’s Express Yourself – a song rallying against censorship, and also the only song on the album without swear words – repeatedly for an entire day.

This again played out in the early 2000s when the presenters played The Herd’s 77% in full, complete with explicit lyrics which target the government and commercial broadcasters, saying “these cunts need a shake up”. ABC management argued that the language was unacceptable. But announcer Steve Cannane instead used the song to spark a 90 minute talkback special.

Overwhelmingly, Triple J presenters felt the strength of the language reflected the strength of the artists’ activist feelings.

Tracing the station’s approach to social issues is a way to trace the priorities of many young people in Australia. In 2017 the Hottest 100 countdown was moved away from January 26, following a listener petition and survey.

Over the years the station has promoted activists standing up against racism and homophobia. In 2023 after the Voice referendum, announcer Nooky gave an impassioned personal statement, followed by Yothu Yindi’s Treaty on repeat for the rest of the show.

A station for audiences

As I found studying Triple J’s impact during COVID, providing listeners with a range of listening options remains vital.

In May 2020 listeners across the country took over the program grid and requested songs – literally anything – as part of a week-long “Requestival”.

Hilariously the audience trolled the broadcaster, requesting everything from The Antiques Roadshow theme to Beethoven, as well as local artists and international pop.

Triple J became a clear place where the pent up energy, fear and loneliness of the young audience could be shared.

Room to grow

There were rumours Triple J was on its last legs even before it completed its first year on air.

While general and music outlets seem to periodically publish “is Triple J still relevant?” opinion pieces, most often these pieces are written by people who have aged out of the station’s target.

But commentators past the target demographic, judging it from their nostalgic perspective, aren’t the right people to decide if Australians 18–25 are getting what they feel they need.

Generational battles over the role and importance of Triple J continue to rage.

This is not to say older audiences should stop caring about Triple J. Nostalgia is powerful and important, shown by audiences who attended the sold out 20 year anniversary show by former breakfast hosts Adam Spencer and Wil Anderson.

Since 2015, the digital station Double J has served the “former” Triple J audience, complete with former Triple J presenters, music specials and music aimed at an older demographic.

Triple J is etched in the memories and forms a legacy for older Australians. Those who remember that first broadcast in 1975 will even get to relive it this weekend on Digital Double J, but Triple J is still a vital resource for its target audience.

At a time when media outlets are increasingly concentrated, more regularly incorporating AI and moving away from rigorous fact checking, there is even more need to promote and protect an outlet that embraces the distinctiveness of young Australians making new work now.

Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Cycling, in its most familiar form, dates back to at least the 19th century. One example of an early bicycle was known as the “hobby horse”, and it later became the “Dandy horse” and then the “accelerator”. Early cycling was reserved for the upper-classes and was seen as highly fashionable and decorous – particularly for men.

Women’s cycling, on the other hand, was viewed as trivial and unbecoming. When women were portrayed cycling, they were often eroticised and undressed.

The early development of women’s bicycles and cycle-wear was impeded by debates on women’s morality and sexual innocence. The bicycle was said to cause “bicycle face” (a face of muscular tension), harm reproductive organs and diminish what supposedly little energy women had.

Cycling women were viewed as sexually promiscuous both for the “unnatural” straddling of the bicycle and for the freedom cycling offered them. Where were they all cycling to, men wondered.

New women

The development in 1885 of the Rover “safety bicycle” revolutionised women’s cycling. It featured a lower mounting position and inspired somewhat of a cycling craze. By the 1890s, several million women around the world were cycling.

The influx of female cyclists on the streets created a moral panic for the Victorians. The image of the cycling woman came to represent a new type of woman with feminist ambition. This led to a discourse known simply as the “woman question”.

The fear caused by this cycling “new woman” is made clear in postcards from the time. The new woman in the example above is abandoning her husband and children for a day out and charging her husband with domestic tasks – a highly provocative notion to a Victorian audience. God forbid, perhaps she is also on her way to a suffragist rally. Cycling women were seen as radicals who threatened the “natural order of things”.

Such was the symbiotic relationship between feminism and women’s cycling, that the bicycle became emblematic of the suffrage movement. This photograph, taken in 1897, was taken at the height of the “woman problem” debate.

An effigy of a cycling woman hangs above a crowd at Cambridge University, as they await the result of a vote on whether female students ought to receive a degree upon completion of study. The vote was defeated and the effigy triumphantly torn down. Women could not receive a degree from Cambridge University until 1948.

This photograph captures the cultural rejection of cycling, educated women.

The effigy, dressed in collegiate striped stockings, cap and rational dress is a stereotypical new woman. Akin to a Guy Fawkes dummy in November, during this time the cycling woman momentarily joined Britain’s long history of reviled figures of rebellion.

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Mobile women

In her book Women and the Machine (2001), art historian Julie Wosk documents the history of a “cultural longing to represent women as safely stationary” in visual culture.

At the turn of the century, cycling women were often depicted as incompetant, either falling off their bicycle, cycling into something or being attacked while cycling.

The intention behind these images was to showcase women’s supposed technical and physical inability. The Victorian equivalent of the sexist modern-day stereotype that “women can’t drive”. At the base of such claims is a fear of mobile women. Images like these served as visual warnings for women who wished to exercise their physical freedom on two wheels.

After 1900, women’s cycling went through another transition. While in its early years cycling was considered an upper-class pursuit, by the 20th century bicycles were becoming democratised as the motorcar became the in thing for the wealthy.

Bicycles became a form of functional transport for the working classes. The need for an expanded female workforce during the first world war had also helped to normalise women’s cycling.

As shown in the above special munitions edition of Cycling magazine, the bicycle was seen as the ideal “energy saving” mode of transport for female workers. While the advertisement copy shows that the 19th-century concerns over women’s “energies” endured during the war, the visual of a woman successfully cycling to her workplace confirms some progress.

By the 1930s, cycling manufacturers were offering women’s ranges more in line with men’s and leading brands offered speed and sports models to women. Marketing copy focused less on issues of morality and decorum and worries of “bicycle face” had long ceased to exist.

This was surely progress? Unfortunately, it isn’t so straightforward. The discourse around women cycling was still concerned with health and beauty more than sporting achievement. But now instead of being thought to damage femininity, cycling now supposedly ensured it.

In 1938 Billie Dovey was named British bicycle manufacturer Rudge-Whitworth’s “Keep Fit Girl” after she peddled almost 30,000 miles around Britain. But rather than focus on her remarkable achievement, the press described Dovey’s “fine physique”, “healthy” skin and “tan”.

Images of the past can tell us a lot about the culture which produced it. These images show a cultural discomfort with physically mobile women. And it’s a discomfort that hasn’t entirely disappeared.

A gender gap in British cycling persists. Nine in ten British women are reportedly “scared of cycling in towns and cities”. The UK’s poor cycling infrastructure matched with an increase in violence against women on the streets together make for an unappealing prospect for would-be female cyclists.

As well as safety fears, women have less leisure time – despite more flexible post-pandemic working structures – and societal pressures regarding their physical appearance when cycling still linger. That’s all despite the number of female cyclists adding to medal tallies for British teams in recent years which made household names of some athletes.

Whatever the future for women’s cycling, it is critical to understand and redress these long-held assumptions about women’s “paltry” abilities regarding technology, sports and cycling. It is important to recognise the bicycle as an agent for progress whilst acknowledging the historic and contemporary challenges facing female cyclists.

Tamsin Johnson, PhD candidate in visual cultures, Nottingham Trent University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.