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DEC 2001 - JAN 2002 THE ON-LINE PUBLICATION OF THE FOREIGN CORRESPONDENTS' CLUB OF HONG KONG

   
  FEATURE
BEING WHERE THE ACTION IS ... Page 1 of 2

Reading your own obituary is a rarity, but veteran Agence France-Presse correspondent Kate Webb had the last laugh on the grim reaper in Cambodia in 1971. After a career in journalism spanning four decades, Webb retired in August. She talked about her life on the frontlines with Vaudine England.

Kate Webb set out in seamed stockings and miniskirts to learn journalism in Sydney then took herself to war at the age of 23. Now she's not even 60, but is stepping out, retiring from journalism.
Perfectionist to the core, she thinks she's slowing down.

Most of us think we know the dramatic moments in her extraordinary career. But only after a few soothing unguents one late night in Jakarta did we get to the nub of it all:

"People always think I must be so tough to survive all this. But I'm a real softie. But maybe that's what it takes - you have to be soft to survive. Hard people shatter."

Getting into the details of her desperate moments, it's clear
she's right. When she was captured by North Vietnamese forces in 1971, aged 28, with five others at a battle for Highway Four, tearful colleagues around the world wrote her obituaries and mourned the loss of not only "a babe" but, more importantly, a "darn good reporter". Friends
and contacts the world over lobbied from Beijing to Paris for her release.

Unlike every other group captured and killed in those times, her group survived. Why?

"We all said, take all of us or none. If you don't release the Cambodians we're not going... [And] one of the North Vietnamese helped me. He was obviously very tired and sick, but he kept
questioning me and I thought, 'he's a professional'. And I suddenly remembered that I was a professional too, and I stopped feeling like a victim.

"None of us talked about the others. The Cambodians had families and could have easily dobbed me in as CIA and got an award, but they didn't.

"So you see what people have given me in life.

"Me giving money to people is nothing compared to that," says Kate, asked why she's so generous to the disadvantaged she meets when she has no nest egg to call her own.

When she staggered back to Phnom Penh to the astounded delight of the press corps, friends such as the late great Donald Wise took her aside, warned her of what it would take to get over the trauma of captivity and helped her through.

Just as threatening to her life was the motorbike accident in Delhi which left her at risk of losing an arm. She was taking horse-sized tranquillisers, encased in a cast. Half her face had been wiped off. For three weeks she couldn't see, couldn't move. Her nerves were crushed, she was screaming with the white pain. Instead of running to Bangkok, she trusted the Indian doctors who said if she could stand it, they could save her arm.

It so happened that at the time, Kate was giving shelter to a family of Afghan refugees in her house. (How many "tough" hacks would do that?) It is to the Afghans she ascribes her survival. "And suddenly there was no sense of obligation on the Afghan family's part, which was super," she says.

Her worst moment was in Kabul, when militia bashed her head on the floor and tore a chunk of her hair out. "That rattled me, really spooked me. It took a while to stop looking over my shoulder. There's something very humiliating about having your head bashed."

And when she was facing death from malarial fever in New York, it was friendship (and beer) which pulled her through. She'd arranged to meet John Wheeler of AP one day for a beer and failed to appear. Wheeler, saying "she wouldn't pass up a beer", called on Bill Landry, UPI's foreign editor, and together went to find her.

"I was in a coma on the floor of the hotel in New York. Everything was aching, I was throwing up and passing out. They came and just frog-marched me out of there in a sarong and a field jacket, down to the hospital," says Kate.

With a temperature of 108 degrees, they put her in a bucket full of alcohol and ice up to her neck and inserted drips into each arm, all the while thinking she was brain-dead.

She was in New York as the second woman after Germaine Greer invited to address the Washington Press Club. But the honours seem to mean little to self-effacing Kate. [ctd]

Next ... Page 2 of 2
Tributes to Kate Webb

 

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