Speaking with a billionaire at Preston Market

“You’ve been asked to leave”, he says.

Yes, I reply. The security guard and the two police made it very clear.

It’s Saturday 22 April and we’re standing outside the Preston Market, in Melbourne’s north. I’ve just realised that the well-preserved 70-something-year-old man standing in front of me, with steam coming out of his ears, is the billionaire owner of the market: property developer Sam Tarascio senior.

“This is my property”, he tells me, more than once.

I was just finishing my conversation, I tell him: but there’s an important issue of free speech here.

I’ve been handing out leaflets to marketgoers, promoting the big community meeting at Preston Town Hall on the evening of Friday 12 May.

Responses range from curious to indignant to outraged.

“I’m from Europe!”, one older guy shouts at me. “No one would ever think of knocking down something like this!”

“I’m from Mernda”, says another. “There’s no market closer, and this is a great meeting place.” We settle into a chat about the numerous issues with outer-suburban planning, and the crimes of various billionaires.

“I’ve been coming here since I was eight years old”, says another. “Where else around here can you find Chinese, Indian, African, old-school Aussie—all arguing about the vegetables! And having a laugh! That guy should pay a billion dollars just to be able to watch it every Saturday!!”

A couple of groups stop and ask what’s happening.

The developer, I explain, wants rules for this site that would let him knock down 80 percent of the market. He wants to build a shopping mall instead, and crowd the site with fourteen-storey apartment towers. Tarascio’s company, Salta, is very cosy with the government and the planning authorities. Salta shares an office building with the Victorian Planning Authority.

But this time, I explain to people, it’s not turning out according to the script. A strongly supported local campaign has resulted in the Victorian Planning Authority, and the planning minister, ruling out the 80 percent demolition of the market. Instead, they are recommending “substantial retention”—but what that means is up for grabs. So it’s a crucial time for the campaign to save the market.

Sam Tarascio knows all this. It’s probably why he’s here at the market rather than hanging out in Portsea. There’s no point in restating it to him.

So instead, I put it to Sam that, because the future of this much-loved community asset is under discussion, the whole market should be alive with that discussion. People handing out leaflets on the issue should be welcomed, not shooed away.

He doesn’t share my view.

“This is my property. It’s not up to you. One hundred and fifty livelihoods depend on this place.”

Is that why you’ve put all the traders on monthly leases, and put the rent up? I ask him.

“It’s just not viable to have this site of this type operating as a fresh food market”, he responds. “It’s old, you have no idea of the work that needs doing.”

Sure, I say: anytime you want to reach into your back pocket and spend some of your $1.6 billion on fixing the plumbing around here, I’m sure that would be welcome.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’d have to shut this site for two years to fix the sewers under here!”

So do the work in stages, I say: construction companies do it all the time.

He seems to take exception to this very straightforward observation: “I’ve spent 40 years in construction!”, he tells me.

I know, I reply. I’ve worked on a bunch of Sam’s jobs. Including the kind of shopping mall proposed for this site—which is nothing like the Preston Market.

“Everything we’ve done is within the regulations”, he tells me.

Yes, I reply. And that’s exactly the contest right now. What rules will the planning minister impose on this site? That’s why it’s so important that everyone around here has the opportunity to get informed and express a view.

I tell Sam that his problems with free speech are likely to continue. Many, many, many people are very passionate about saving the market.

“You’re going to lose”, he tells me. “This is my property. If I came to your house and told you what you could do with it, you wouldn’t like it would you?”

Well, I reply: if I was knocking down my house and building a 14-floor apartment tower or a shopping mall instead, I kinda hope that my neighbours, the local council—and even the government, for that matter—might have something to say about it.

And proposing to demolish 80 percent of a much-loved community asset like the Preston Market is something else again.

I don’t share Sam’s conviction that the billionaire will always win in a contest like this. Anyone who has done some time on a stall or handed out leaflets around Preston can attest that there’s an enormous amount of community feeling on the issue, which can be mobilised into an active campaign.

But I can sense that my first ever conversation with a billionaire is coming to an end.

I take the opportunity to assure Sam that he should expect to find plenty of people around here, week after week, putting our views about preserving the market, and engaging in discussion about the future of this site. Surely that’s a minimum for the democratic rights we should have.

“You’ve been asked to leave”, he tells me.

I know, I say. It’s been a pleasure.

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If you want to join the campaign to save the Preston Market, here’s the link for the big community meeting on Friday 12 May. We need it to be huge—so spread the word. If you’d like to help, and/or exercise some free speech at the market, contact the campaign via the Save The Preston Market page. You can volunteer to help with letterboxing or a stall.

Who knows, you might even have an encounter with a billionaire. He’ll be the one with steam coming out of his ears, grumbling, “This is my property! You’ve been asked to leave!” to everyone within earshot.

Sam is being invited to the public meeting, along with the planning minister and many others, to hear the community’s views on the future of the market.