12+  On the steps of Parliament House on Remembrance Day, 11 November 1975, the Governor-General of Australia's Official Secretary read a proclamation signed by Sir John Kerr dismissing Prime Minister Gough Whitlam's Labor government. When he had finished, Whitlam strode forward and delivered his response, the Dismissal Speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, well may we say God save the Queen because nothing will save the Governor-General."

Picture the scene on the crowded steps of Old Parliament House in Canberra on that historic day in 1975. Mind you, it wasn't the "Old House" when Gough Whitlam faced the press microphones and delivered his famous speech.

Fittingly, I'm standing to Gough's left, my fist raised in solidarity with the sacked Labor government. But until today, you wouldn't have seen me in any news footage or photos of the event because I've travelled back in time to witness it. 

What's that? "Rubbish!" I hear you cry. "Einstein said time travel was impossible!" 

Well, not exactly. Theoretically, Einstein's "E=mc2" allows for travel into the future for objects moving close to the speed of light. Yet here I am, in the past, listening to Gough. 

Building a time machine was challenging, and I made a few rookie mistakes with my early calculations and prototypes. But as Einstein also said, "Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible."

At first, I only took short hops back and forth to test it. One was just two minutes into the past to move my car before a parking ranger booked me. The confused look on the ranger's face staring at the now vacant spot on the street when I returned to the present was worth more to me than the money I saved on the parking fine.

I also travelled backwards and forwards in time to relive and live my footy team winning grand finals. Ahh, those were and will be memorable moments, and I brought home autographed programs as souvenirs.  

The thrill of these trial successes was more than enough to encourage me to travel further. But to where and when? 

Dallas, 1963? No, I'd likely shout, "DUCK MR PRESIDENT!" when JFK's motorcade approached. Munich, 1929? No, I'd want to shoot Hitler during one of his hate-filled beer hall tirades. Or further back, to the Last Supper at Mount Zion? Once again, no, I'd probably beat up Judas before he could betray Jesus.

Time travel is technically complex, and so are the temporal paradoxes. 

For instance, in the Grandfather Paradox, I might travel to a time before my father's conception and kill my grandfather. However, as I wouldn't be here or there if my father hadn't been born, I can't kill my grandfather. Hence the paradox. 

Then there's the Butterfly Effect from Ray Bradbury's sci-fi story, A Sound of Thunder, in which a big game hunter travels to the age of the dinosaurs to shoot a T-rex, strays from the prescribed levitating path, and crushes a beautiful golden butterfly under his boot in the ancient rainforest mud. When the hunter returns to his time, he finds the death of that single butterfly has resulted in an alternative, pro-fascist present.

And then there are the paradoxes associated with travelling into the future, say, to the moment of my death. What happens if I return to the present and avoid the circumstances leading to it? Could that create unforeseen consequences, like the Butterfly Effect? 

The potential paradoxes of time travel are weighty considerations. 

Fortunately, I loved my grandfather, and I'm fond of butterflies. It may be tempting to warn JFK, shoot Hitler and beat up Judas, but I won't stray from the temporal pathways of the past and risk changing history. As for the future, I'm not ready to confront my death or the inevitable collapse of civilisation and the extinction of humanity.

But like Einstein's theories and the atomic age, once I'd built the time machine, I had to use it. So, balancing cause and effect, I choose my destinations carefully, never travelling too far into the past or future. And I only bring back the odd souvenir or autograph and fund my travels with discreet inside-knowledge investments and bets on horse races.

I've always been a keen student of history and have especially enjoyed witnessing historical events firsthand, like the Australian Governor General's dismissal of the Whitlam Labor government. Speaking of which, back on the steps of Old Parliament House, Gough has delivered his speech, and with a final wave, he's turned back to the doors, chased by the cheers of the adoring crowd.

I almost reached out to shake the great man's hand, thanking Gough for his achievements and reassuring him that the country would maintain its rage at the next general election and beyond and that the press would eventually reveal the conspiracy behind his sacking. 

However, mindful of temporal paradoxes, I restrained myself and instead crossed the steps to ask the 1970s TV comic legend, who had arrived unannounced at Parliament House hoping for a mock doorstop interview with Gough, for her autograph.

I suddenly felt as cold and frightened as the hunter in Bradbury's short story when he discovered the dead prehistoric butterfly's effect on his present because it wasn't Norma on the steps. Instead, there was a skinny man in a cheap suit with a comb-over hairstyle and bits of tissue paper stuck to shaving cuts on his face. He took my autograph book from my trembling hand and signed his name: "Norman Gunston"!

© 2024 Robert Fairhead

I wrote a 500-word version of The Dismissal Paradox for the May 2024 Furious Fiction challenge, run by the Australian Writers' Centre. Each story had to: 

• Take place on an IMPORTANT DATE from the past 50 years – i.e. from May 1974 onwards
• Include a character who builds something
• Contain the words ENOUGH, CHASE and MISTAKE (longer words maintaining the original spelling were okay).

I chose the 1975 Dismissal of Gough Whitlam's Labor government as my important date, and I created a character who builds a time machine and travels back to witness Gough's Dismissal Speech. As for the required words, can you find them in the story? 

I am a Star Trek fan, and I've read many books — including Ray Bradbury's A Sound of Thunder — and seen many films on time travel. So, I'm well-versed in temporal paradoxes. But I wasn't aware until I started writing the story and researching the Dismissal that Norman Gunston, the satirical alter-ego of actor and comedian Garry McDonald, was there on the steps of Parliament House on that famous day in Australian history (National Film and Sound Archive of Australia article link by Dan Ilic).

I wanted to create a temporal paradox for my time-travelling character, and Norma Gunston seemed the perfect twist. In the third last paragraph, I also laid a few hints when the time-traveller contemplates reassuring Gough that "the country would maintain its rage at the next general election and beyond and that the press would eventually reveal the conspiracy behind his sacking".

Like Norman instead of Norma, the country did not maintain the rage in my temporal timeline and re-elect Gough. And despite the conspiracy theories, the press has not uncovered a CIA plot to overthrow Gough's left-leaning Labor government ... yet!

The Dismissal Paradox was not showcased or longlisted for May's Furious Fiction. But I reworked it, adding more background for The Big Issue Fiction Edition, which has a more generous 500-3000 word count limit. Once again, the Big Issue didn't select the story for publication, so I revisited it for a third time for The Best Australian Yarn. 

Unfortunately, the saying about third time lucky didn't come true for my story. But that's okay because I've finally shared The Dismissal Paradox on Tall And True and will include it in a forthcoming speculative fiction collection. Watch this space! 

In the meantime, you might like to read about the microfiction anthology I published last year, Tall And True Microfiction.

PS. I took the photo of Old Parliament House in Canberra on one of my many pilgrimages to the steps where Gough Whitlam delivered his Dismissal Speech.