During World War II, Australia was a vital cog in the Allied machine, sending troops abroad, supplying bases, and hosting American and British forces across the Pacific. But not every sector of the nation was fully committed to the fight.
On the waterfront, the Waterside Workers’ Federation (WWF) - known to most as the wharfies - became infamous for strikes, obstruction, and outright sabotage at the very moment the nation was fighting for survival.
What made their conduct so divisive was not only the disruption, but the question: were they fighting for workers’ rights, or for ideology?
The WWF and Its Politics
The Federation had grown powerful in the early 20th century, fighting for men who worked dangerous jobs for poor pay. But by the 1930s and 40s, the union was heavily influenced by left-wing politics, particularly communism. That ideology coloured its decisions during the war years.
At times, the wharfies argued they were defending wages and conditions against exploitation by shipping companies. But critics ... then and now ... ask whether their loyalty was less to their country than to a political line.
The Human Cost of Disruption
The cost of those strikes and stoppages was more than inconvenience.
When No. 317 Radar Station was being set up at Green Island east of New Britain, vital valves were stolen from radar sets while on the Townsville wharves. Without them, the station could not go on air. Days later, a tropical storm scattered a squadron of American Vultee Vengeance bombers returning from Rabaul. Lost and disoriented without radar guidance, they ran out of fuel. Thirty-two men died. “Had No. 317 been on air,” wrote RAAF man James Ahearn, “those aircraft could have been guided back to base. The grief was compounded by the fact that had it not been for the greed and corruption on the Australian waterfront, such lives would not have been needlessly lost.”
At Milne Bay in 1942 , where Australian troops fought the Japanese in one of the war’s turning points , the need for heavy artillery was desperate. Yet watersiders in Townsville refused to load the guns unless paid treble or quadruple time. In the end, American soldiers forced them off the wharf and did the job themselves. The convoy sailed, but the guns arrived too late.
On the Sydney and Brisbane wharves, servicemen watched in fury as cargo handlers deliberately wrecked U.S. aircraft. Fighter planes were hoisted without being unbolted, torn apart under the crane’s weight. In Adelaide, American engines were destroyed during unloading until U.S. troops resorted to sub-machine guns and stun grenades to stop the sabotage.
Meanwhile, men in the jungles of New Guinea were told to conserve ammunition because wharfies in Sydney refused to load it. One infantry sergeant wrote bitterly:
“You can imagine what we would have done to the wharfies had we been given the chance; the Japs would have been second priority.”
Curtin’s Dilemma
John Curtin, leading the nation through its darkest hours, found himself shackled. As Prime Minister he needed the full cooperation of unions, yet the WWF was also the industrial backbone of his Labor Party. To confront them too harshly risked political collapse; to give way endangered soldiers’ lives.
The government eventually used troops and non-union labour to bypass the stoppages. But damage to morale - and to Australia’s reputation among its allies - was severe.
The British Pacific Fleet’s Frustration
By 1944 - 45, the British Pacific Fleet relied heavily on Sydney for supply and maintenance. Yet constant strikes left Admiral Sir Bruce Fraser exasperated. He even threatened to shift the fleet’s base to New Zealand, where he believed work would be done without obstruction. Though the fleet remained in Australia, the episode revealed how close industrial militancy came to sabotaging Allied operations.
When Unions Became Political
The story of the waterfront during World War II shows how quickly a union’s role can shift once political ideology takes hold. At their best, unions defend ordinary workers from unsafe conditions, long hours, or unfair pay. But when ideological agendas become entwined with their cause, the line between protecting members and pursuing politics blurs.
By the 1940s, the Waterside Workers’ Federation was not only fighting employers - it was serving as a platform for socialist and communist ideals. That gave its leaders a sense of higher mission, but it also meant decisions on the wharves were no longer judged simply by how they affected the men unloading cargo, but by how they advanced an ideological struggle. The war effort - and even the lives of soldiers - sometimes became secondary.
It is a pattern we can still recognise today. When loyalty to ideology outweighs loyalty to community or country, the organisation ceases to serve its members first and instead serves a political cause. And in moments of national crisis, that distortion can prove disastrous.
Loyalty Put to the Test
The most damning example came after the war’s end. In October 1945, HMS Speaker arrived in Sydney carrying emaciated Australian prisoners of war, survivors of Japanese camps. They had endured three and a half years without word from home. Many were barely clinging to life. And yet, when the ship berthed, watersiders went on strike for thirty-six hours. The men were left waiting on board, denied the embrace of their families.
When ideology blinds us to duty - when faction is placed above country - disaster follows.
