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I've always loved the ABC. It keeps the clock by which my life has been measured.
The 7.45am news bulletin on local radio. The 7pm news. The strange little modern experiments that provide an insight into generations not mine including The Katering Show where I sit in a room watching television with others who are all laughing and who get all the jokes. Although I haven't laughed on time once, it's true I now call that catch-up app of the ABC's, IVoo. Just like the Kates.
And for years and years, I'd set my alarm so I could listen to Mark Colvin on PM.
I have first memories of loving the ABC through my parents' eyes. Their distinct unAustralianness ensured we watched the ABC television news in an attempt to fit in. For me, that turned to loving Double J, entering every phone-in competition I could and then, eventually, dropping in to the Double J studios before Sydney's Darlinghurst was filled with million dollar terraces. It felt cool.
But in 1991, the ABC became something else to me, a place I could visit. It was open to everyone, old and young alike. The only controversy about entering the building happened in June 1991, when then managing director David Hill, accompanied the Whitlams, former prime minister Gough and his wife Margaret, into the yet-to-be-opened brand new headquarters. The three of them were barred by a security guard before Hill could convince him they weren't gatecrashers.
And here we are, 26 years on; and it is as if that public space has disappeared. Erased, I fear, by a person who should not have that power.
A couple of weeks back, I went to the Ultimo building to appear on Drive with Radio Sydney's Richard Glover.
I operate on the JIT principle – just in time. On this occasion, timing was even tighter than usual and although I'd promised to ring the young radio producer as I approached, instead I tailgated. For those of you who are always upright citizens, tailgating means following someone through a boom gate (usually to avoid paying a fee) but in this case, the door was opening for a young lad and I followed him through, looking towards the reception desk. No fee to be paid and none avoided. A movement appeared at my right and a large body blocked my way. Seriously, at least 190cms; and solid. I actually got a little fright before explaining myself to the security guard.
Then I looked around. What had always been a bustling hub of young and old, from primary students to those schooled in life, was dead.
Yes, it was a shortcut for some, but for many, it was a destination to stare at ABC personalities including Jeremy Fernandez and Kumi Taguchi as they sat in the fishbowl studio at one end of the huge building. If you were waiting to go on to a program (which I've had the pleasure of doing on the odd occasion), you could sit on the comfy chairs and watch people of all ages absorb the culture and flavour of the ABC.
That public space, paid for with public money. I fear that decision was catalysed by Roger Franklin.
If you've forgotten who that is – or as is more likely, you never knew – let me remind you.
Franklin is the online editor of Quadrant, a conservative publication. After an episode of the ABC's Q&A on the same day as the Manchester bombing, he wrote in response to the panel discussion: "If there had been a shred of justice that blast would have detonated in an Ultimo TV studio on Monday ... this morning, mere hours after Jones' guests pocketed their ABC taxi vouchers ... mere children were torn to pieces on the other side of the world ... unlike those young girls in Manchester, their lives snuffed out before they could begin, none of the panel's likely casualties would have represented the slightest reduction in humanity, intelligence, decency, empathy or honesty."
And that was not the worst of his work that night.
The managing director of the ABC Michelle Guthrie called for the removal of the story from Quadrant and stood up to the appalling behaviour. She'd already been investigating the safety and security of ABC staff and the building but she also informed the Australian Federal Police about the story.
Public money on a public building now closed to the public because, in part, of Franklin's actions. Of course, the ABC is putting a brave face to it. A spokesperson says that a security analysis was conducted way before Franklin suggested terrorism to anyone. A few weeks after his remarks, the foyer of the ABC was closed.
Franklin's writing has changed dramatically since he last wrote for the Herald Sun in 2007. His vivid writing on politics has changed to lurid, near vulgar. At least one former colleague says he was not extreme when he worked at the Herald Sun. But Franklin has gone unpunished, unlike so many others. Yassmin Abdel-Magied didn't wish death on anyone. I don't even think Mark Latham has wished death on anyone. By these measures, we can see that death threats pale into insignificance compared to any other perceived misconduct.
Franklin's still writing drivel and he himself was absent from any apology made by Quadrant's editor-in-chief Keith Windschuttle (who was my journalism lecturer last century). Quadrant itself is a shadow of its former self and it lists patrons who are no longer among us.
It needs to man up and ensure it deserves some respect. It should ditch Franklin.
Or maybe force him to sit next to the lovely security guard who stopped me and explain himself to every single taxpayer who enters.
Jenna Price is a UTS academic and Fairfax Media columnist