This was published 1 year ago
The photo and the phone call: How a tip-off toppled master manipulator Barry Urban
By Gary Adshead
Gary Adshead spent years dismantling the web of faked and forged achievements this MP spun to mislead those he was supposed to represent.Credit: Marija Ercegovac
The member for Darling Range, Barry Urban, answered his mobile phone on a warm Wednesday morning in late 2017 with no idea the fallout would eventually end his political career and land him behind bars.
Urban was jovial at the beginning of the discussion telling me he was driving to state parliament and needed to close his sunroof, so he could hear what I was saying – and protect his bald head from the heat.
“I’ve got to have this conversation with you,” I began. “Someone has been poking around and sent us some stuff. They’ve raised concerns about photos on your Facebook of you wearing a Police Overseas Service Medal.”
According to his biography, Urban had been in the WA Police Force for almost seven years, so it was conceivable he had been awarded a medal for working on secondment overseas.
“When did you get a Police Overseas Service Medal?” I continued.
Without hesitation Urban launched into a tirade.
“Tell f---ing [political rival] Rob Coales I got a police overseas medal when I was United Nations peacekeeping in Bosnia and Herzegovina,” he responded.
Despite his insistence, Urban was wrong about the source of the information and, as it would turn out, he was lying about the source of his medal.
All I had to do was prove it.
My initial questioning of the British-born West Australian Labor Party MP, who was elected to the seat of Darling Range as part of Mark McGowan’s landslide victory over the Liberals in March 2017, lasted just 7 minutes and 43 seconds.
During much of that time, I found Urban to be overly defensive, but his explanation did succeed in delaying the story about his fake medal as I made further inquiries into his past career.
“I was a war crimes investigator in Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1997 to 1998,” he said.
“It’s my overseas police medal from that.”
I put it to Urban, who made nervous grunting sounds as he talked, that the silver medal he was wearing during an ANZAC Day gathering was an Australian police medal for overseas service, commonly referred to as a P.O.S.M.
“No, no, it’s a British one, a UK one,” he countered. “They look exactly the same. It’s an international police overseas medal. It’s not from Australia.”
I didn’t believe him, but I had to be sure he was deliberately creating a diversion to make me question my tip-off and to avoid being outed for wearing a medal to which he was not entitled.
Barry Urban on the campaign trail in 2017.Credit: Facebook
Stolen valour, where someone falsely claims to have served their country overseas, is considered a seriously low act in the military and emergency services.
A politician making up war stories to justify a medal to help get elected would take the form of deception to a new low.
As Urban ranted to me about being unfairly targeted, I was already pondering which authority in England might confirm whether the medal he was describing had been issued to British police for their overseas service.
“This is what annoys me with being a politician,” Urban lamented. “They can’t play the game they have to play the man. They’re trying to make a story that’s not really a story, Gary.”
Noting he said, “not really a story”, I was even more convinced Urban had something, or a number of things, to hide.
“Do you really think with my record I would sit there wearing stuff like that, really?” Urban asked. “It’s quite insulting truth be known.”
The intrigue began with photographs posted on Facebook.
After listening to Urban dig an even bigger hole by fabricating more and more of the story, I decided to give the MP an obvious undertaking.
“I won’t write it if it’s not true,” I told the anxious MP, who wound up the conversation with a curious comment.
“I’m not having a dig at you,” he said. “But if they want to discredit me go and discredit me for something I’ll give you some ammo for – because there’s quite a lot of stuff I could give you.”
Urban was unaware that before calling him I had spent several days establishing the provenance of the medal he wore pinned to his chest during various ceremonies.
Alongside that police medal, Urban had a United Nations medal, which was also likely to be bogus if his claims of serving as a war crimes investigator in Bosnia and Herzegovina could be disproved.
But I decided to focus on the police decoration first and sent a close-up image of the medal, and a photograph of the MP proudly posing with it, to a recently retired senior WA detective.
Barry Urban on Anzac Day 2017 wearing the fake medal at a school assembly.
The former detective had led police officers on overseas deployments, and he immediately identified Urban’s medal as an Australian-issued POSM.
Known for his straight talking, my well-credentialed crook catcher said “the clown in the photo” had no right to wear the police medal.
When I informed him the “clown” was a politician, who had been in WA Police for a stint after migrating from England, the former police officer said it was crucial that Urban be exposed and agreed to check the official list of Australian POSM recipients.
Urban’s name wasn’t on it.
By sheer coincidence, my first attempt at getting Urban to admit his police medal was a sham came two days before I would board a flight to China to cover then-premier Mark McGowan’s first overseas trip since winning the 2017 election.
I knew when I met up with the premier and his team that they would be aware of the allegations I had put to Urban because of a phone call I received from the premier’s office shortly after quizzing the Labor MP.
Barry Urban with then-premier Mark McGowan.
“What are these questions you’re asking Barry Urban about?” asked McGowan’s strategy advisor Mark Reed.
“You’ve been given a bum steer, mate.”
My recollection is that I responded, “We’ll see about that,” and immediately began emailing West Midlands Police in the UK, where, according to Urban’s biography, he served in the 1990s.
I also sent a request to the United Nations office in The Hague, where the Balkans war crimes unit was based.
Between plane and train journeys in China, I checked my emails for responses, but nothing came.
On the fourth night, I was sitting at an upmarket restaurant in Shanghai’s historic riverside Bund area when the premier leaned over and asked if I thought my inquiries about Urban would amount to anything.
“Yes, I think they will,” I replied.
He made a comment about the strange need for some people to embellish aspects of their lives and then returned to his dinner and the other guests.
Two days later, I returned to Perth to pursue the truth about Barry Urban’s life.
And it would turn out to be about more than medals.
Stay tuned for Part II on Wednesday: Stolen valour, stolen skills: Revealing the depth of MP Barry Urban’s betrayal.
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