Writing Hey Joe
(This article first appeared in Viewpoint 11.4, 2003)

I wrote Hey Joe because I had a story to tell—which is the response most writers would give when asked about why they bothered. But the quick response hides the fifteen years of research and the mental gymnastics that accompanied it. When you embark on a novel that covers the sixties in Australia, the Vietnam War, the anti-war movement and a hundred other stops on the way you could be forgiven for sometimes being overwhelmed by the task—even if it was a burden of love.

For years I toyed with writing a collection of short stories, or an autobiographical piece, or maybe a series of videoed interviews. It wasn’t until a discussion with my wife, Gabrielle and author, Jenny Pausacker that a structure emerged that could carry the mass of stories and the emotions they possessed. The driving force that led to ‘Hey Joe’ had found its home.

But the question of why I wrote the book deserves a more complete answer.

***

Some years ago I saw a Leunig cartoon of Sixties protestors, hippies and an assorted bunch of radicals marching down the street, finally being welcomed home. The implications were numerous. At the time there had been much debate about the way in which Vietnam Vets had been treated when they returned home. The response had been parades of vets in capital cities, town hall ceremonies, gnashing of teeth and soul-searching. There were anecdotes of how they had been spat on (I don’t know one person from the anti-war days who spat or berated the vets—a charge often levelled at the protest movement) and overwhelming evidence of lack of care for them and their families who had been physically and psychologically damaged by the war.

I saw all this but I also saw an absence. Where were all the Australian stories, films, plays, art and songs that spoke of those tumultuous times, especially from the point of view of a protestor? Of course there are some but many only make passing reference to the war and its opposition. In fact, the opposition and radical movement rarely get a mention. And that’s fine because they’re telling a different story. In their excellent books, Tin Soldiers and Lee Spain both Ian Bone and David Menthezen (respectively) both write of a dad who’s a Vietnam Vet. A visit to my local library unearths a couple more, Freefall, by Stan Krasnoff and Bryce Courtenay’s, Smoky Joe’s Café. These last two are more Vietnam Vet centred which again raises the question of where the hell have all those rebellious people, those acts of bravery and terror, that flourishing of ideas and dreams of a better world – where are they in Australian literature and in particular, Australian Youth literature?

I am often asked by school students about the sixties, the war, draft resisters and so on. But there isn’t much I can refer them to (Gold 104 hardly suffices). However, because there are so many quick, witty remarks made about those times in the media and elsewhere (and in numerous Master’s and Doctoral theses) there is a strongly held belief that there is a mountain of artistic works dealing with the life and times of my generation. As far as I know, there isn’t. So all this became another impetus for the writing of Hey Joe. And because I believe in the healing power of narrative I wanted to write a story that showed those times, warts and all.

As much as I wrote it for young people, I too wanted to capture and understand the wild ride we went on. I also did it for my generation and for my children—because, believe it or not, over the years I refrained from regaling them with accounts from the anti-war movement etc for fear of sounding like an old digger saying, ‘In my day . . .’ In some ways I regret not doing more of it.

It’s one thing to have a story to tell and to know who you’re writing for. It’s another thing getting it right—the characters, settings, voice, pace—meant lots of reading, visits to museums, interview after interview, sketches, visits to Vietnam, chats with old mates, journal entries, music, photo albums, editorial meetings and movie watching and lots of help. The number of emails, articles, books and tapes I received take up one corner of my study. With this mountain of information I think I had to wait for it to become a part of me, part of my blood and bones, rather than a weight I had to carry.

Every piece, every detail I collected meant I had plenty to reflect on. Like the interviews I had with Les, a Vietnam Vet where we discovered that even though we were ostensibly on different sides during the war, we were both screwed by the same system. Without him, the story of Joe Thorn’s friend, Brian Hamilton, would never have rung true. Without Les my novel would have been in danger of becoming one-dimensional. I wouldn’t have got the story right.

Once I had decided on the main part of the novel being set in Vietnam, things fell into place. The Vietnam War lay at the heart of the sixties (1966-1975) and was the catalyst for so much that happened. It was an obvious place (and a good metaphor) where Jimi could come to some understanding of his absent father and the times he lived in and changes he fought for. As I told the story of Jimi’s search I came to the now clear understanding that all the research and thinking I’d done meant not only could I get the story right (but you be the judge), it also meant that there were more novels I would write.

Pam Macintyre of Viewpoint recently told me of another novel about the anti-war movement and the sixties called, Good Thunder Coming, written in the early seventies. Then there was Helen Garner’s Monkey Grip. But it seems that there has been precious little since. Maybe it takes thirty years to digest such upheavals. Maybe I’m wrong and there’s an abundance of material out there. Maybe I’ve insulted an author who’s written a ripper of a story which has never received the attention it should have. Whatever—I’m pleased to have made my contribution with ‘Hey Joe’ .

Which brings me to a final reason why I wrote my novel: if you’ve got a story, tell it. Anyway you like. Any perspective you choose. They were great times, full of spirit, debate, direct action and humour. We now live in times of detention centres, refugees, war, toadyism, lies, hypocrisy and racism—times that could do with some true stories of the sixties and the social upheaval and optimism that went along with it.