Imagine finding out that the person who designed
your bank's high security vault was actually
a convicted bank robber. Which is just, I mean,
a wild thought. Right, and now imagine the bank
being so incredibly proud of this guy that they
decide to honor him by putting his face right
there on the money itself. Yeah, it sounds completely
absurd, like a joke. It really does. But the
crazy thing is, in 1966, Australia did exactly
that. They absolutely did. And honestly, it speaks
volumes about how a nation chooses to view its
own history. Because we treat physical money
as this pure utility, just a quick vehicle to
buy a coffee or whatever. We almost never actually
look at it. Exactly. We just hand it over. Which
brings us to our mission for today's Deep Dives.
We're looking at a massive encyclopedic breakdown,
specifically a Wikipedia article. of a seemingly
mundane, everyday object, the Australian $10
note. Yes. And by the time we are done here,
you, the listener, are going to realize that
the crumpled piece of cash in your pocket isn't
just a medium of exchange. It is a highly dense,
miniature museum exhibit. Oh, without a doubt.
It's documenting a nation's history, its technological
breakthroughs, and some surprisingly heavy cultural
and legal controversies. It really is a masterclass
in design and engineering. And, well, human psychology,
too, because money is essentially a fiction.
Right, it only works if we believe it. Exactly.
Fiat currency only has value because we all collectively
agree to trust it. So the physical object itself
has to constantly reinforce that trust. And to
see how they built that trust, we really have
to rewind to a massive shift in Australian history.
February 14th, 1966. A huge day. Yeah, this was
the day Australia transitioned its entire currency
system from the old British -style pound to the
new decimal dollar. And the new $10 note was
brought in to replace the old five -pound note.
Right. But the designers did something incredibly
clever to stop people from just... you know,
panicking. They kept the exact same blue coloration
from the old five pound note for the new $10
note. Which is a deeply vital psychological anchor.
I mean, you have to imagine the sheer anxiety
of a whole country waking up to find that the
basic math of their daily survival has completely
changed. Yeah, it must have been terrifying for
some people. Oh, absolutely. An economy is incredibly
fragile on a day like that. So by keeping that
familiar blue hue, the central bank was essentially,
well, Holding the public's hand like a comfort
blanket. Yeah, exactly It's subconsciously signaled
to a nervous shopkeeper or a skeptical buyer,
you know Yes, the numbers are different, but
this still holds the same value. This is still
your money it drastically lowered the cognitive
load of the whole transition. OK, let's unpack
this because the first batch of these paper notes
and the characters they chose to represent this
brand new Australian decimal identity are just
wild. They really are. So initially, the main
title identifying the country was printed as
Commonwealth of Australia. And that was from
1966 until 1974, before they decided to shorten
it to just Australia. Right, and they printed
a staggering amount of them. Over 1 .2 billion
of those Australian notes were printed up until
1993. Wow, 1 .2 billion. Yeah, and... When you
have a print run that massive early anomalies
become incredibly rare and valuable to collectors,
like the source notes that the 1967 issue featuring
the specific signatures of Coombs and Wilson
is highly sought after. Just because of the signatures.
Mostly because it was only issued for one single
year. So it's super rare now. That makes sense.
But I want to get back to the faces on these
original paper notes, though, because this is
where it gets crazy to me. So on the reverse
side, you have the famous poet Henry Lawson.
Right. and he's surrounded by scenes of a 19th
century outback gold mining town called Gulgong.
It's got the Times Bakery, it's very rustic,
very grounded. Very classic Australiana. Exactly.
But on the front, the obverse side, you have
the architect Francis Greenway alongside some
of the public buildings he helped construct.
And here is the kicker. Francis Greenway was
a previously convicted forger. I just, I cannot
get over this. They put a convicted forger on
their legal tender. That is a hilarious irony.
It's literally like hiring a known bank robber
to design your vault and then immortalizing him
on the cash itself. Why would they do that? What's
fascinating here is that it's an absolutely brilliant,
confident move for a newly decimalized nation.
You think so? Oh, definitely. In a lot of cultures,
a criminal past is seen as a permanent stain.
It's something to be buried, you know, scrubbed
from the official record. Right, you wouldn't
brag about it? Exactly. But highlighting Greenway,
a man who was literally transported to Australia
as a convict for forgery and then rose to become
this foundational architect, it reflects a very
unique cultural mind. Oh, I see. It is an embrace
of the convict past rather than a denial of it.
It's an acknowledgement that the nation was built
by people seeking or, well, being forced into,
a second chance. That makes so much sense. It's
almost a badge of honor, in a way. It really
is. But relying on national pride and a familiar
blue color isn't going to be enough to secure
an economy. they had to actually protect the
paper. Right. Right, the anti -counterfeiting
measures. Yeah, so the design included a watermark
of Captain James Cook in the whitefield. And
that was the exact same watermark used in the
last issue of the old pound banknotes. Exactly.
And again, that goes right back to continuity.
So a watermark is created during the actual papermaking
process. Oh, really? Not printed on later? Nope.
It's by varying the thickness of the paper while
it's still wet. So when you hold it up to the
light, the thinner parts let more light through,
and that creates an image. That's super clever.
Yeah. And if someone was nervous about accepting
this new, unfamiliar dollar, holding it up to
the light and seeing the familiar embedded face
of Captain Cooket, provided immediate physical
proof of legitimacy. Like, okay, this is real
money. Exactly. And they also introduced a metallic
security strip woven directly into the paper.
Initially it was placed near the center of the
note, and then in 1976 they moved it over to
the left side. Right. But as much character as
those poetry notes had, and as clever as a moving
metallic strip was, they had one massive inherent
vulnerability. They were paper. They were made
of paper. They tear, they absorb water, they
wear out in your pocket. Oh, yeah. And worse,
as we get into the 1980s, paper became incredibly
vulnerable to a new technological enemy, the
color photocopier. Yes, that was a game changer
for counterfeiters. Which brings us to 1988,
where Australia completely reinvents the physical
nature of money. This is a monumental leap. I
mean, not just for Australia, but for the history
of global currency. It was this desperate arms
race against counterfeiters. So to celebrate
the bicentennial of Australian settlement in
1988, the country printed 17 .5 million commemorative
$10 notes. Right. And this wasn't just, you know,
a new picture on the same old paper. This was
the first polymer meaning plastic banknote of
its kind anywhere in the world. A total world
first. On the front, it featured the HMS supply
anchored at Sydney Cove, early colony backgrounds,
and figures symbolizing everyone who contributed
to Australia, from early settlers to the modern
working man. And it also featured a brand new
security feature called an Optically Variable
Device, or OVD. And this showed Captain James
Cook, who, the text notes, was the man who first
mapped Botany Bay. Right. Another nod to history.
But I have to push back a bit here, because I
have to admit, my first instinct when reading
this was that it was just a massive marketing
stunt. Really? Yeah. Like, why roll out a brand
new one -first plastic technology just for a
commemorative note? Was this just a flashy bicentennial
gimmick to show off? Releasing a totally untested
currency substrate just seems insanely risky
for a national economy. Well, it's a very logical
suspicion, but it was absolutely not a stunt.
Developing a polymer substrate for currency was
a grueling, highly expensive. of research project.
The Reserve Bank had actually been working on
this for years to combat those high -resolution
color copiers we just talked about. So by introducing
it as a commemorative issue, they essentially
tricked the public into participating in a massive
real -world beta test. A beta test with 17 .5
million notes. Precisely. They needed to test
the waters. Like, how does plastic hold up in
a humid climate? Does the ink rub off when it's
just crumpled up in a wallet? Oh, sure. And how
do mechanical ATMs handle the friction of a polymer
bill? If the experiment failed, they could just
write it off as a limited run commemorative item.
Right. It was just for the bicentennial. Exactly.
But if it succeeded, it would prove that this
groundbreaking technology was the future of economic
security. That is so smart. Now, you mentioned
the OVD of Captain Cook. What exactly is an optically
variable device and why is it better than the
old? paper security. So think of it like a highly
advanced hologram. It's a structure stamped into
a foil at a microscopic level that physically
diffracts light. As you tilt the banknote, the
image of Captain Cook actually appears to move
or change colors. In a color photocopier, it
just takes a static two -dimensional snapshot.
So it can't capture the movement? It fundamentally
cannot replicate a physical structure that requires
actual movement and light to function. That,
combined with the polymer itself, completely
neutralized the color copier threat. Wow. So
the technology was a spectacular success. But
while the material of the note was celebrating
modern tech and the front of the note was celebrating
colonial history, the back of the 1988 note triggered
a profoundly complex legal and cultural clash.
Yes, it really did. One that went all the way
to the federal court. Yeah, the technological
triumph was for a time deeply overshadowed by
a landmark conversation about intellectual property
and cultural rights. So the reverse side. of
that 1988 commemorative note was designed to
reflect aboriginal culture. It featured an aboriginal
youth in ceremonial paint named Wayne Williams
alongside a Dreamtime figure. Right. And it also
featured a very specific piece of artwork, a
morning star pole created by an artist named
Terry Yambalool. But after the note was released
into circulation, Yumble actually sued the Reserve
Bank for breach of copyright. Yes. He claimed
that an agent had misled and deceived him into
permitting the reproduction of his poll. And
to understand the true weight of this lawsuit,
you really have to look beyond standard copyright
law and understand the cultural context. According
to the sources, a Morningstar poll is profoundly
culturally significant to the Gaupu clan. Terry
Umbul had the right to physically make the poll,
yes, but that right came with a very strict communal
obligation. Meaning he didn't just own it outright
himself. Exactly. He was obligated to his clan
to ensure that the poll was not used or reproduced
in any way that offended their cultural perceptions
of its significance. So what does this all mean?
The case played out and the Reserve Bank ended
up settling their part of the lawsuit. But the
claim against the agent who obtained the approval
went to trial. Right. And Justice Robert French
ruled that the copyright was validly assigned
and that the agent hadn't engaged in misleading
or deceptive conduct. Yes. But the judge also
explicitly acknowledged that Yimbel may not have
fully appreciated the implications of what he
was doing in terms of his own cultural obligations.
I really struggle to wrap my head around this.
Wait. So the court said the contract was legally
solid, but culturally it might have been a violation
of his obligation to the Galpout clan. How do
you reconcile a legal signature with indigenous
communal ownership? This raises an important
question, and you've hit on exactly why this
case is so historically important. It's a collision
between two entirely different paradigms of viewing
the world. OK, how so? Well, on one side, you
have Western intellectual property law. It's
highly individualistic, right? It assumes that
a solitary genius artist creates a work, owns
the copyright, signs a piece of paper, and sells
the rights. Right. You sign the contract, you
get the check, it's done. A simple binary transaction.
Exactly. But indigenous cultural rights operate
on a deeply communal level. The art isn't just
an aesthetically pleasing image. It can be a
sacred text, a record of lineage, and a profound
responsibility shared by an entire clan over
generations. Wow. The artist is more of a steward
than a sole proprietor. So signing away the reproduction
rights on a standard, Western legal contract
fundamentally fails to account for the spiritual
or communal permissions required by the clan.
Precisely. And the judge's ruling really reflects
the strict limitations of the Western legal framework.
The contract was legally sound by the letter
of the law, but it completely failed to capture
the cultural reality of what was being traded.
That's a massive blind spot. It is. But what
is truly noteworthy here is that the Reserve
Bank chose to settle the case rather than fight
it to the bitter end. Oh, interesting. Yeah,
that settlement was an institutional recognition
of the gravity of the situation. It's a powerful
lesson that basic legal compliance doesn't automatically
equate to cultural respect. It really forced
institutions to realize that when dealing with
indigenous art, a standard copyright clearance
simply isn't enough. That is such a heavy, fascinating
layer hidden on the back of a plastic beta test
note. It really is. And the Reserve Bank clearly
learned from the trials of 1988 both the technological
successes of the polymer and the cultural lessons
of the design process because they took all of
that data and synthesized it to create the permanent
polymer $10 notes that we actually see today.
Yes. And from 1993 onward they transformed the
note into a highly secure literary masterpiece.
The shift from the commemorative note to the
permanent circulation note is where you really
see this technology mature from an experiment
into a true art form. So the permanent polymer
note, which was designed by Max Robinson and
issued from 1993 all the way to 2017, took a
beautifully poetic turn. On the obverse, you
have AB Banjo Patterson, who is one of Australia's
most famous bush poets. Right. And alongside
him is a horse in the Snowy Mountains region,
a wattle plant, and his signature. Then on the
reverse you have Dame Mary Gilmore, another iconic
Australian writer and journalist alongside a
bullet train and her signature. But the craziest
part is the background. The backgrounds of both
sides actually feature tiny micro printed verses
from their respective poetry. It's an incredible
fusion of national identity and security. Here's
where it gets really interesting though. In 2017
they updated the design again. They kept the
poetic themes but added the bramble wattle and
the sulfur crested cockatoo. Yeah, beautiful
additions. And they added a massive top -to -bottom
transparent window. I was looking at the design
specs for this 2017 note and the security features
are just wild. You have embossing literally a
raised image inside that clear window. Right.
There's a shadow image of the coat of arms printed
over the note. The serial numbers are printed
with fluorescent ink. and they kept the microprinting
of the entire poem, The Man from Snowy River,
and the denomination value. That's a lot of feature.
It's essentially a high -tech literary magazine
hidden in your wallet. But I have to ask, isn't
that overkill? Why go to the immense trouble
of microprinting whole poems? Who is actually
reading their money with a magnifying glass?
If we connect this to the bigger picture, the
overkill is exactly the point. When it comes
to currency, complexity is the security. Oh,
I see. Remember the color photocopier threat.
When a counterfeiter tries to scan or photocopy
a modern banknote, their digital scanners are
calibrated to look for standard resolutions.
Micro -printing is so infinitesimally small that
a standard optical scanner simply cannot resolve
the individual letters. So the scanner basically
just gives up and renders it as a solid lorry
line. Exactly. It completely breaks the digital
reproduction process. And you mentioned the embossing
on the transparent window. Yeah, the raised bump.
That is another physical hurdle. Polymer is essentially
a specialized plastic film. Embossing it means
applying extreme mechanical pressure to physically
deform that film, which creates a raised, tactile
texture. Right. So a visually impaired person
can feel it, an automated cash sorting machine
can feel it, but a counterfeiter with a high
-end inkjet printer absolutely cannot print physical
depth. Okay, that makes perfect sense. But my
absolute favorite feature has to be the stars.
Oh, the registration stars. Yes. There is a four
-point star printed on the front of the note.
and a three -point star printed on the back.
And when you hold the bill up to the light, they
magically join together to form a perfect seven
-pointed star. How do they even do that on a
mass scale? That is called perfect registration,
and it is a counterfeiter's absolute nightmare.
Really? Why? To achieve that, the printing plates
on the front and the back of the printing press
have to hit the fast -moving plastic substrate
at the exact same millisecond in perfect microscopic
alignment. Yeah, if a counterfeiter tries to
fake it by running a sheet of plastic through
a printer once for the front and then flipping
it over to print the back, the microscopic slip
of the paper feed will ruin the alignment. If
they're off by even a fraction of a millimeter,
that star won't line perfectly when you hold
it up to the light. That is just brilliant. So
how many of these little plastic canvases are
actually out there in the wild right now? Well,
according to the June 2017 statistics in the
source material, there were 128 million $10 notes
in circulation. That represents a net value of
$1 .28 billion. And it makes up about 8 % of
all bank notes in circulation. So they are absolutely
everywhere, passing from hand to hand. every
single second and surviving the elements perfectly
thanks to that polymer. Exactly. It really is
an incredible journey. I mean we started with
a paper note in 1966 that literally featured
a convicted forger, a confident nod to a complex
colonial past. Yep. Then we witnessed a massive
world -first pivot to polymer technology in 1988
which brought with it a landmark dispute that
forced a reckoning between Western copyright
law and ancient indigenous cultural rights. A
huge And finally, we arrived at today's modern
$10 note, a micro -printed, fluorescent, perfectly
aligned celebration of national poetry that is
practically impossible to forge. It just goes
to show that a nation's currency is never just
about economics. It is a constantly evolving
self -portrait. Every time they update the security,
they're also updating how they tell their own
story. So to you listening, the next time you
pull a piece of cash out of your wallet or purse,
take a second to actually look at it. because
those seemingly boring items we carry every day
are deeply layered with human stories, legal
battles, and cutting -edge engineering. They
really are miniature museums. Which leaves us
with a final thought to ponder. If you were tasked
to design a banknote to represent your own community
today, what controversial detail or cultural
watermark would you include that historians might
be arguing about 50 years from now? Thank you
for joining us on this deep dive. Next time you
buy that coffee, remember you're holding a miniature
museum in the palm of your hand.