For a movement built on the backs of working people, the Australian unions sure do have an odd habit of standing on their necks. Union Jacked: The Workers Revolution That Became A Rort.
Once, they were the moral compass of the country — the people who bled so others could have weekends, safety rails, and a wage that could buy more than two avocados and a dream.
Now, they’re a parody of themselves — fattened on members’ fees, propped up by political immunity, and addicted to the same power and perks they once swore to fight against.
If you still believe your union dues go toward “protecting workers,” let’s take a tour through Australia’s top 10 industrial Robin Hoods — heroes who stole from the poor to give to themselves.
1. Michael Williamson — The $1 Million Man
The former Health Services Union president treated member money like Monopoly cash — invoices, credit cards, secret accounts. He called it “union business.” The courts called it fraud.
When finally jailed, Williamson reportedly complained about his working conditions. Irony so thick you could spread it on toast.
2. Kathy Jackson — The Whistleblower Who Whistled for Herself
She was once hailed as the “hero who exposed corruption in the HSU.”
Turns out the whistle was pointed backwards.
The Federal Court later found she’d quietly helped herself to more than a million dollars.
Union motto: Do as I say, not as I invoice.
3. Craig Thomson — The People’s Credit Card
When the former HSU boss (and Labor MP) was caught using union cards for escorts and dinners, he blamed “identity theft.”
If that’s true, the thief had remarkably similar taste in hotels and champagne.
4. Bruce Wilson & Ralph Blewitt — The Builders of the “Slush Fund”
These AWU legends pioneered the “Workplace Reform Association,” a phrase that sounds like paperwork but turned out to be a cash pipeline for themselves.
They made reform sound like a spa treatment — relaxing, rejuvenating, and taxpayer-funded.
5. Darren & Michael Greenfield — Father and Son, Partners in Bribes
When your family business is corruption, why not make it a dynasty?
The CFMEU’s NSW bosses allegedly traded building site favours for brown-paper perks.
A true father-son bonding exercise — with receipts.
6. John Setka — The Patron Saint of Intimidation
The CFMEU’s Victorian enforcer built a reputation for “standing up for workers” — usually by screaming at them.
He’s now fighting fresh allegations of coercion and misconduct.
At this point, Setka’s public statements sound less like press releases and more like court transcripts.
7. Michael Ravbar — Queensland’s Godfather of the Hard Hat
In QLD, CFMEU boss Ravbar leads an organisation accused of criminal infiltration, threats, and corruption.
If unions are supposed to protect workers, why does this one sound like it’s auditioning for Underbelly: Enterprise Bargaining?
8. Diana Asmar — The $2.7 Million Printing Job
Victorian Health Workers Union chief allegedly paid a “friendly printer” millions for ghost invoices.
Workers got flyers saying “We fight for you.”
Turns out, the only thing being printed was money.
9. The CFMEU at Large — Construction, Fraud & Mayhem
Australia’s most militant union racked up more legal breaches than a teenager’s driving test.
So intertwined with bikies and crime networks that the government finally stepped in and put the thing into administration.
When you need a Royal Commission to fix your “workers’ organisation,” something’s gone truly feral.
10. The HSU — The Eternal Soap Opera
The Health Services Union deserves its own Netflix series: Fraud, Faction & Faxes: The HSU Story.
Every season ends the same way — new secretary, same corruption, higher fees.
If irony were taxable, this union would finally balance its books.
From Solidarity to Self-Interest
Australia’s unions once stood between the worker and the boss.
Now they are the boss — just with a better salary package and no accountability.
They scream “protect the worker,” then invoice the worker for the service.
They campaign for higher wages, then skim those wages off the top.
Union corruption isn’t an accident — it’s a business model.
The members pay, the officials play, and when the headlines hit, they all sing the same refrain:
“It’s just a few bad apples.”
Yeah — but the barrel’s starting to smell like compost.
Final Thought
If Australian workers really want protection, maybe it’s time for a new kind of union —
One that doesn’t spend your dues on private lawyers, overseas junkets, or “ghost payments.”
One that understands the meaning of solidarity — not salary.
Until then, remember:
Every time you see a union ad talking about “fair pay for honest work,”
there’s probably a lawyer somewhere billing by the hour to keep that phrase legal.
By The Hollow Centre
