Kyle Wilson, a diplomat and intelligence analyst who was one of Australia’s most influential and globally respected experts on Soviet and post-Soviet Russia, has died aged 76 after a long illness.
Most things about Kyle were big. His substantial frame would extend an engulfing hand, accompanied by a warm greeting – ‘my dear fellow!’ – delivered in a rich baritone that was attuned equally to classical music and thumping out bush ballads.
Beneath his occasionally piratical black beard and tousled hair was a sharp intellect and analytical judgement, balanced by his abiding compassion for the marginalised and displaced. His cricketing prowess manifested at both ends of the crease (‘our trusty leg spin bowler, whose hands made the cricket ball look like a grape,’ as one player recalled). His appetite for physical activity had him often astride his bicycle about Canberra and on frequent, remote bushwalks in the company of one or two close friends, sometimes being incommunicado from his family for days at a stretch.
The only thing disproportionate to Kyle’s bigness was his ego. For a man who never sought recognition in his lifetime, the outpouring of respect, admiration, affection and gratitude which has followed his death on 29 June would be as embarrassing and uncomfortable to him as it is warranted.
Kyle was a listener, genuinely curious about others, keen to hear their views and benefit from their experience, no matter how relatively youthful his interlocutor might be. His permanent sputnik was a worn notebook in which – in a barely legible hand – he would meticulously jot down words and ideas that sparked his interest. His ceaseless desire to learn equipped him well to ponder and, with wry humour, delight in the quiddities of the world and the oddities amongst its denizens.
Usually, one of the last to speak in any formal gathering, he would carefully offer thoughtful, considered views and judgements that were always intended as a contribution, never a prescription. Everything he said commanded respect because it sprang from an obviously deep well of not just knowledge, but also comprehension.
This was most evident in his analyses that were informed by his mastery of, and affinity with, the language, literature, theatre and music of Russia and its peoples. He was one of a small cohort – globally, as well as domestically – who truly deserved the label ‘expert’.
As Peter Varghese, former secretary of Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and director-general of the Office of National Assessments (ONA), recalls:
Kyle was one of the most gifted analysts of his generation. In our shared time in the Office of National Assessments, he was a regular participant in the intelligence exchanges we had with US intelligence agencies. He made us proud. Here we were in the centre of the system which devoted more resources to the study of Russia than any other country ever did, and Kyle did more than hold his own. He was listened to not just with great respect but genuine admiration. He was one of the very few in our system who knew both Russia and China well.
Kyle’s expertise in Russia reflected a broader interest in foreign languages and cultures, which had its roots in his late adolescence and ultimately led him to join the Department of Foreign Affairs in 1981, with postings in Warsaw, Moscow and Beijing.
Opposed to Australia’s involvement in the Vietnam War and unwilling to risk being drafted before being entitled to vote, Kyle left Australia for Europe in October 1969. Travelling and working there over the next couple of years, in particular while labouring on the Helsinki docks and struggling to communicate with his fellow dosshouse dwellers, he came to appreciate the value and power of language as ‘the key to the Aladdin’s Cave which is another country’s culture.’
Hours spent escaping the cold in the Helsinki public library deepened Kyle’s insights into early 20th century Finnish history, notably its struggle to gain and maintain independence from Russia and the Soviet Union between 1917 and 1940. This coalesced into his enduring conviction about the ‘absolutely fundamental value’ of the principle of self-determination, or, in the words of an Irish revolutionary song he would quote, ‘that small nations might be free’.
Returning to Australia in 1972, Kyle enrolled to study German, Russian and Polish at the Australian National University, with which he maintained a life-long affiliation. To further his studies of Russian language, literature and theatre, in 1978 he travelled on a university exchange program to the USSR. He spent 16 months at the prestigious Moscow State University, with a brief stint at Leningrad State University and a clandestine visit to Riga, the capital of Soviet Latvia, which was a crucible of politically edgy theatre.
He observed how the Soviet imperial construct exercised political control over, and mobilised, the arts for the perpetuation of the state and its rulers. In turn, this strengthened his opposition to the notion that powerful peoples were entitled to suppress smaller peoples. That conviction made him a staunch supporter of Ukraine’s defence of its sovereignty, liberty and independence against Russia’s war of aggression.
The linguistic and cultural knowledge and the friendships Kyle acquired as a student in Moscow accompanied him throughout his life, including on his posting as deputy head of mission in Moscow between 1989 and 1992. As third secretary, I served with Kyle from 1989 to 1991. We witnessed the inexorable decline and ultimate collapse of the Soviet edifice, which crystallised in the abortive putsch against president Mikhail Gorbachev between 19 and 21 August 1991. On that first night of uncertainty, anxiety and foreboding, we talked our way into the ‘White House’, as the seat of the Russian parliament was laconically known, and spent hours amongst the defenders, gathering what insights and offering what rhetorical reassurance we could, before exiting after midnight to return to the embassy and report to Canberra.
The rest, as they say, is history: the coup collapsed and, soon after, the Soviet Union followed. In my final bedside conversation with him, Kyle dwelt at length, despite failing strength, upon that evening. I was privileged to share both the reality and the recollection with him.
Kyle’s fascination with other languages and cultures led him to make a late-career shift to China. He applied his self-discipline and linguistic talents to acquiring a more than competent command of Mandarin (albeit, in the words of a colleague, himself a fluent speaker, tinged with a Russian accent). This included a period of in-country language training, during which he and a fellow student from the Department of Foreign Affairs had roles as Allied POWs who escaped Japanese captivity during World War II in what his co-star called ‘a very low-budget, four-part TV series of highly questionable quality’ produced for the Chinese national broadcaster.
Having sold the ambassador on the idea that this invaluable language immersion experience would greatly benefit their Mandarin skills, Kyle and his colleague passed a month on Hainan Island ‘in a dodgy guesthouse’, spending the evenings at roadside bars ‘in the night-time humidity, drinking beer and baiju and eating deep-fried whole lizards’ with the young Chinese cast and crew. It certainly improved their command of Mandarin profanity. Sadly, their characters were less fortunate, being killed off by malaria – in Kyle’s case, rather improbably grasping for a crucifix dangling just out of reach as he succumbed.
Following his Beijing posting, Kyle returned to his favoured fold, ONA (the ‘Office of Notional Assertions’, as he fondly and wryly described it sometimes), where he had served from 1985 to 1987. He was senior analyst for Russia and the former Soviet Union from 2003 until his retirement in 2013.
Retirement did not mean reticence, however. Kyle remained active and audible, regularly contributing articles and media commentary on Russia, Ukraine, and broader geostrategic affairs, including in the pages of The Strategist.
Kyle’s death leaves a large gap in the ranks of the Russia-literate in Australia. But it is eloquent testimony to his lasting impact and influence that those ranks are slowly refilling. Moreover, the effect spills well past the confines of Russia-centric expertise. As one of his informal proteges notes:
Kyle was welcoming and encouraging from the start and has been a champion and advocate for me ever since. He was incredibly generous in mentoring young public servants, analysts and experts – open to young people’s opinions and judgments and willing to yield space to them.
That is a legacy of which the ever-modest Kyle Wilson justifiably would be proudest.
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