Jokers to my Right

8

You would think it would be no harder than deciding to stop having whisky and cream buns for breakfast, but these are the kind of decisions that seem to be beyond Tony Abbott and his corporate friends.

Reducing smoking rates even further by plain packaging, and reducing the damage that poker machine gambling does by having problem gamblers set limits on the amount they lose (no one ever wins of course), are such obviously good and important measures of public benefit that you would think Tony Abbott, desiring to develop an image as a compassionate conservative, would have been supporting them even as they were being announced. But no, nothing if not consistently obstructive, Tony continues to oppose absolutely everything the government proposes, no matter how much of benefit to the public, apparently because he thinks the public appreciates negativity so complete it makes a Black Hole seem like Little Miss Sunshine.

But Tony is never alone in this negativity. His is not so much the stand-up comedian persona as the funny man in a double act (think Laurel and Hardy, Cook and Moore). Tony gets the funny lines while his partner gets to look serious. For the plain packaging there was British Tobacco, suggesting that plain packaging would lead to more smoking; for poker machines the clubs association predicting the death of country towns and the end of civilisation as we know it. And this week, Tony got to do the funny routine about a Carbon Tax, which apparently will lead to the end of all manufacturing and farming in the country, and the Business Council of Australia got to suggest a 10% tax which didn’t actually apply to any businesses. Come to think of it, not sure who is the straight man in these routines.

But in the words of the famous old Australian cartoon by Stan Cross “For gorsake stop laughing: this is serious.” All of these decisions matter.

An Opposition that said – we support you on plain packaging, have you thought of reducing the maximum number of cigarettes per packet; great work on set limits, how about examining the physical structure of clubs where pokies are housed; or carbon tax, clearly the way to go, but how about more effort in the commercial development of large solar power installations – is one thing; an Opposition that blocks everything out of hand is another.

Hard enough to get things moving in the right way in this country at the best of times. At the moment it is like a competition where two tractors engage in a tug of war, both going nowhere. And then of course there is Barnaby Joyce. That is stand up comedy (“Look, it’s raining. What happened to climate change?”), isn’t it?

Queen Cate

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It is a reflex response so strong that it could replace the ringing bell of Pavlov’s dogs in psychology textbooks without losing a fraction of meaning. A celebrity joins a public campaign in favour of something Rupert Murdoch is opposed to and the Murdoch hacks stream as one to their keyboards and churn out vicious attacks on said celebrity. Last one online is a rotten egg, or a sacked columnist.

Most recent of course Cate Blanchett, daring to support a carbon tax, when King Rupert denies there is any change in the planet at all since he was a twinkle in Keith Murdoch’s eye, and if there was, well, certainly nothing involving business doing anything differently at all to fix it will ever be permitted in Rupertworld.

Why the strong response to Our Cate? Well, celebrities are the only chance that those of us on the progressive, reality-based, side of politics have of counter-balancing to a small extent the crushing juggernaut that is Murdoch media. They could have asked me to front the campaign, happy to help, but, let’s face it, Cate has somewhat more starpower even than the proprietor of the famous Watermelon Blog, and she is considerably more photogenic (my own peak of photogenicity seems to have been in 1950 in the gravatar above, immediately after the picture was taken it plunged faster, much faster, than the loss of Arctic ice). So, Murdoch billions versus the lovely Cate is something more of an even fight than Murdoch billions versus anyone else – queen checkmates king. And King Rupert is no more interested in competition than any other supporter of capitalism red in tooth and claw.

Oh occasionally a celebrity turns out for Right Wing causes – Charlton Heston, Angry Anderson – but 97% of the celebrities whose celebrityhood comes from ability and intelligence and charm (not the fake celebrity that comes from the Murdoch media machine) are left wing. Which is to say no more than that they live in the real world, can assess the truth, understand that the Murdoch press doesn’t speak the truth. Can see that while the Emperor does have clothes, they are the robes of deceit.

And that knowledge, that good and brave and intelligent people like Cate Blanchett seem to hate what Murdoch stands for, makes the attacks even more vicious.

Any colour you like

2

Whenever people complain about advertising (especially on tv) the advertising industry will instantly respond with the proposition that advertising is just there to serve the community, provide information, give people choice, oh, and if you don’t like it, why don’t you go and live in North Korea, see how you like that.

Well, I certainly wouldn’t like that, but I just have this tiny niggling feeling that there is somewhere an intermediate step between being concerned about the advertising industry and the effect on our society and wanting to live in a totalitarian state. Let’s see if we can find it.

Once upon a time (yes, I know, I know, grumpy old man, but bear with me) advertising was indeed a service to the community. It not only let you know what was available but told you about the qualities of what was available (quite different to North Korea you see). Then you could decide, make a rational choice, between what was on offer from, say, this car company as compared to that car company, and work out which one had the qualities most relevant to your needs. Get it home and discover that, yes indeed, it was pretty much as you expected it to be.

But that isn’t what advertising agencies do any more. Instead their skills, techniques, special effects, psychological expertise, are all directed to ensuring that we can’t compare different automobiles, ice creams, shops, foods, televisions, political parties, clothing. That the realities of, say, performance, maintenance costs, safety, driveability, will be hidden behind glossy state of the art images. That after watching an advertisement for a new car you will be less informed than you were before. That faced with the reality of an actual car, after being influenced by the virtual reality of the glossy advert, you are going to be in for a series of more or less nasty shocks.

Didn’t there used to something called truth in advertising? Seems to have been misplaced somewhere between here and Pyongyang.

All passion spent

16

I shouldn’t be writing this, have a date with the giant presses of my local monthly newspaper – think Rupert Murdoch undergoes a tree change. There is a self-imposed deadline to meet, and since I have had the ambition, these three long years, of meeting it every month, I shouldn’t let myself be lured away by the siren calls of the blogging world.

But the other day when I wrote “Time Out”, that lack of remembrance of things past, I ended abruptly, having failed to remember the other thing I was going to add. I suppose you all thought it was a literary device, admired its cuteness, but I had in fact forgotten. Just as well my head is firmly screwed on these days, eh?

But the thing is, when I did remember, found the equivalent of a post-it note inside my head, it wasn’t that good after all, barely a mot, certainly not a bon mot. It was just this – when do we stop being ambitious?

Trouble is, to make this into something worthwhile, deep and meaningful, I had to also be able to remember the other part of it. Someone, somewhere, had the same thought and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was.

Once upon a time I could remember not only quotes, not only who and what they came from, but the part of the book and the place on the page I had seen it. Very useful in open book exams I can tell you. But now that my whole life is an open book exam I can’t remember even where on the shelves to look for something. My brain, once as full and carefully ordered as Deep Throat computer (or is it HAL?), now looks exactly like my physical book shelves. Surely one of my readers will know to what I refer? It would be a relief as I lie awake at 3am trying to get a glimpse of the book in question in my short-sighted mind’s eye.

Anyway, will have to go it alone. The thought was just this. We push ourselves along, decade after decade, with the idea that success is just around the corner. That one more big offensive will over-run no man’s land and the opposing trenches and then it is straight on, turn left at the Rhine, for Berlin. In primary school I suppose it is ambition to get on to the football team, in high school to be seen with the prettiest girl, in university to win a medal, in post-graduate life to publish in Nature, at thirty-something to captain the Australian cricket team, at forty-something to get a professorship, after fifty surely a Nobel Prize beckons, and then, what? Up until the age of sixty there is this never-ending itch, this driving force to succeed, to achieve, to leave a mark, to answer the call when posterity beckons. It’s a driving force, a tiger in your tank – one more mountain to climb, only one and we are there in the promised land. Each ambition unmet pushes you even harder to the next one. Sisyphus eat your heart out.

But now I am sixty-mumble-mumble years old do I still have ambition, or do I sink back gracefully into an old age of carpet slippers (if I can keep them from the dog) and watching sunsets? No more itch, no more thoughts of that great honour, that golden ring just beyond the outstretched fingertips, no more glittering prizes to be sought. All very relaxing. No longer the driven Marathon Man. Beyond all that at last.

Except you don’t lose the ambition, do you? The very next phone call may be the Nobel Committee, belatedly apologetic but better late than never.

Need something to keep us going, don’t we? Perhaps when I am seventy-mumble-mumble it will be more relaxing.

There, not worth the effort? Now if you can just remind me who else had the thought. And no, it wasn’t Vita Sackville-West.

Don’t mention the weather

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When I woke up this morning, determined to write something quick and angry about extreme weather events, it was to discover, great minds etc, that Bill McKibben had been similarly provoked, and had the advantage of time zones over me.

I don’t know what drove Bill over the edge. Perhaps it was the US media being more interested in getting a “revised” prophecy of the date of the “rapture” from that vicious old fool, not content with the damage already done to his weak-minded followers, Harold Camping, than to talking about the climate change already afflicting our planet.

For me it was this article that sent me hot foot to the keyboard. Where Steve Connor, “science editor” for the Independent recorded “It is estimated that this April alone there were something like 600 tornadoes in the US. Scientists are not sure why this year has been such a record tornado year but one suggestion is that there has been a particularly strong jetstream blowing over the North American continent” before concluding “There is no evidence so far that the record number of tornados have anything to do with climate change. However, some experts believe they may become more frequent”.

Maybe it wasn’t the hapless Connor though, I had been primed earlier by the usually excellent Ben Eltham who said “Flannery, for instance, showed admirable restraint last night on 7.30 as the ABC’s Chris Uhlmann asked a series of irrelevant questions about tropical cyclones.”

We (and by “We” I mean those of us in the reality-based world of science) have done the world a disservice I’m afraid. Oh with the best possible intentions, but you know what they say – the road to a 6 degree warmer world is paved with good intentions.

No, I am being a bit too kind there. What has actually happened is that we allowed ourselves to be sucked in by the climate change deniers. It was as if they had challenged Roger Federer to a tennis match and then said, at the last moment, “oh, of course we won’t be using rackets and balls, we are going to throw gum boots”.

You see every time in the last ten years there has been an extreme weather event, a record-breaking weather event, something so far out of the ordinary as to be noteworthy, newsworthy, so extreme as to kill many people, destroy towns and lives, the deniers have screamed “don’t you dare to try to blame that on global warming”. And we haven’t. Backed away muttering oh so politely (politeness reigns on this side of the looking glass world) “good heavens no, wouldn’t dream of it, no, no, can’t attribute individual events to global warming, oh my goodness gracious no, that would be very naive, going beyond the evidence, we just aren’t that kind of people.”

Well, true enough. No sorry, let me start again. Well, true. Was the town of Joplin, Missouri destroyed by global warming? Would there have been a tornado anyway? As strong a tornado, as devastating? Who knows. Not the question, never was the question. Sorry, just a moment, I can hear the chorus again “Don’t you try to make political capital out of people’s misery you bastard, typical extreme greenie”. I am supposed to take this as the final word, and once upon a time, in Kansas, I would have done so. But we are not in Kansas any more, time the wicked witch was flattened under a collapsed house.

We went you see from agreeing with the self-evident proposition that an individual event wasn’t caused by global warming to refusing to talk about extreme weather at all. “OK you guys” we said “we won’t talk about droughts and floods and storms. Don’t need to, the planet is slowly warming at a steady but slowish rate, sea levels likewise, ocean acidity as well, ice melting ditto. All we need to do is tell you that if things keep going the way they are (I mean you can all read graphs, right?) in 100 years time things could be very uncomfortable for us all”. There, that should do the trick.

In the mean time the deniers (remember Federer and gum boots) were busy doing exactly the reverse. Claiming that every cold day in Oklahoma was evidence against global warming, every warm period was just El Nino, oh and didn’t we know that the Chinese had sailed across the Arctic Ocean in 1421 and had a fireworks display at the North Pole. By agreeing not to mention the weather (“don’t mention the weather”), that is the manifestation of climate that actually affects the public on a day to day basis, we have made absolutely certain that the public will remain blissfully unaware, so many frogs in a pond, that the evidence of their eyes and other senses (including their common sense) is not to be believed. If the scientists won’t say that extreme record-breaking events are the result of global warming, and the deniers are saying they are not, then there is really no contest of ideas. Are we geting tornados and droughts and floods because of global warming? Course not, but in spite of what people like Barnaby Joyce (“look, it’s raining, we were told there would be droughts”) say, that was never the question. “Are we getting stronger, more damaging, longer lasting, more frequent extreme weather events that keep breaking records because of global warming?” “Yes of course we are, you some kind of idiot, what did you think?”

Until we start explaining to people that global warming is going to hit home, is hitting home already, right where they live, we have lost the battle. Lost indeed the war.

Well I mentioned the weather, but I think I might have got away with it.

Flashman in the pulpit

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Use of the human body (and illness) as metaphor isn’t new. Probably dates back to the moment when the first proto-hominid jumped out of a tree on the edge of the savannah, landed in the grass and said “That was one giant leap for mankind”.

Still, at the risk of seeming even more of a valetudinarian than I do already, I think there will be a lot more mining of medical metaphors on the old Watermelon blog before we extract the cannula and give them a rest.

Occurred to me that having what I have and receiving the treatment I am receiving is like being bullied. The old lymph cells have been bullying my body and now the nasty chemical cocktail I sit down to imbibe every 3 weeks is bullying me too. The latter though with the best possible intentions, rather in the way that a boy receiving a caning would be told that it was hurting the headmaster more than it did him.

Lot of bullying about these days. Bob Brown called the Press on bullying the Greens the other day, and immediately the other journalists all began bullying him even more for daring to suggest they were bullies. The radio and print shock jocks are of course nothing but a pack of bullies roaming at will. Heard one of them on a breakfast TV show the other day bullying Rob Oakeshott (not to his face of course) outraged, still, that the independents had supported, continued to support, in spite of all the shock jock bullying, the Trotskyite government led by Gillard. Shock jock-style bullies infest opinion threads on blogs everywhere, bullying the rest of us to ensure the planet warms up by at least 6 degrees.

There are bullies roaming school playgrounds, corporations bully their workers, mining companies and tobacco companies bully the government, police bully demonstrators, agnostics bully atheists, politicians bully refugees, creationists bully evolutionists, game show hosts bully contestants, gun owners bully non-gun owners, monarchists bully republicans, bloggers bully other bloggers, libertarians bully everybody.

Terrorists are the ultimate bullies with bombs. The IRA were at it again the other day – c’mon guys, really? – but there seem to be mad bombers everywhere determined to use terror to bully their way towards making the rest of the world agree with whatever it is they think they think. Using a wide definition indeed of “think”.

Which brings me naturally to religion. Natural home for bullies it seems. You join a religion and it comes with a kind of bully pulpit, a bully pass which not only allows, no encourages, you to bully anyone who isn’t religious, but all those who don’t belong to whatever splinter group of whatever religious myth you follow. If you can’t bully everyone else into doing what you think they should be doing you can at least bully them into not doing things you don’t want to do and don’t want them to do either. Especially women.

The other day, end of the world as it happened, some madman, with media echo chamber in tow, was bullying his followers so that they gave up jobs, gave him money, got rid of possessions, slaughtered pets, in some cases apparently tried to suicide and kill children, bullied them into believing that whatever madness was going on in his brain was real.

There are politicians too who seem determined to bully the real world into shape (Barnaby, Nick, looking at you). Bully the scientists first, especially climate scientists, taking a big stick the other day to Flannery and Steffen who had once again apparently failed to come up with the correct answer for how the real world works (c’mon guys, how many times does it take till we make you understand that the planet isn’t waming and if it was who cares). Some cardinal adopts the same approach. Apparently if you speak loud enough, carry a big enough sick, the conservative politicians, and their friends in high corporate places, believe, you can force the world to do your bidding. CO2 will stop being a greenhouse gas, the ice caps will cease to melt, the storms will turn into gentle breezes. But all the conservative politicians (on both “sides”of the mainstream political fence), adopt a bullying tone and manner towards any aspect of modern life with which they disagree. Poor people, schools, hospitals, refugees, workers, women, Aborigines are all bullied these days. No discussion of issues, just a hectoring of anyone who holds a contrary view on anything.

Which brings us, inevitably, to that Flashman-in-chief Rupert Murdoch. Story the other day, alongside ones about the Pope being a catholic, swallows flying south, and Queen Anne being dead, that “Rupert Murdoch has let it be known within his organisation that Australia needs change in Canberra and his editors were simply doing his bidding”. So all 21 million of us are going to be bullied by one man until we do what he wants and vote for Tony Abbott. Perhaps just enthrone him in a secret News Limited conclave, white smoke announcing that the new PM has been chosen. America has also been well and truly bullied by Murdoch and his Fox bully boys, which gave us George W Bush and the Iraq war, and, of course, no action on climate change. We were bullied into John Howard (himself a very able deputy bullier) and bullied into keeping him there for 100 years until Kevin Rudd dropped in on Flashman in New York in 2007 and handed over his lunch money, no argument.

They say that if you stand up to bullies they eventually see the error of their ways, take off the headlock, and hand back your lunch money with interest. Only, I think, if you have a current affairs camera team and bullying reporter in tow. Quite how you stop someone who owns 70% of the media outlets in a country bullying us all into submission I don’t know. All together now.

Jet black

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This is one of the [many] kinds of things I love (the “Old Astronomer” in me I guess).

This astonishing image comes from NASA and the report describing it is in Science Daily.

It shows, in incredible detail particle jets erupting from a supermassive black hole in a nearby galaxy (Centaurus A), a black hole weighing 55 million times the sun’s mass. Also known as NGC 5128, Centaurus A is located about 12 million light-years away.

It isn’t so long ago (for us old fellows) that even the idea of black holes was just a mote in Einstein’s eye (well, Schwarzchild’s eye actually, but the metaphor works better with Einstein). And even more recently that the idea of stuff being spewed out of black holes was just a mote in Hawking’s eye. And yet, here they are, with pictures!

I will see if I can get myself in gear for a more serious post (though how much more serious you can be than a nearby galaxy spewing particles from a massive black hole I’m not sure) a little later.

Time out

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I was going to try to do a blast against a couple of the recent monstrous regiments of religion who reared their ugly heads this week, but my eyes are not good (side-effect or symptom? It doesn’t matter much to me) today again, and I can’t focus on the screen long enough at a time to see the whites of their eyes.

So I thought I would have a go at putting together some other, more or less unrelated, thoughts from the last week, bite-sized (or perhaps almost Twitter-sized) pieces that I can dash in and dash off and dash out again from. Incidentally have been trying to read Hunter S. Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, bought cheaply on a disposal stall. Once thought he was wonderful in his demolition of Nixon in “Fear and loathing on the campaign trail 1972″ but the Las Vegas one is unreadable now, or perhaps I have changed. Anyway, occurred to me while struggling through the nonsense that Thompson could have written his novels by Twitter, were he still alive. Every sentence 140 characters or less. No necessary relation between them.

Where was I? Well, we’re not in Las Vegas any more. Doctor Who wasn’t even in the universe this week, I know how that feels at times. Anyway I saw somewhere, without reading it, as I always regret not doing later (regrets, I have a few), about some newly discovered uncontacted tribe (doesn’t that sound tempting at times) who didn’t have a word (or concept? – should have read it) for Time. So there we are, yet another variant on the human condition. Made me wonder if somewhere in an infinite universe there is actually a planet Galafrey with people who can work with Time.

No, let me replay that segment again. It made me wonder if, given an infinite universe, and therefore the certainty that somewhere there not only is a planet Galafrey, but a Time Lord who looks like Matt Smith, the real Dr Who might one day turn up on the BBC Dr Who set in Cardiff and have a chat to the real (as it were) Matt Smith. Nonsense of course when you think about it. I mean infinity is big but it isn’t THAT big. But doesn’t mean that, just as there are certainly other planets in which the dominant life forms would be analogs of say, if I am not being too Earthopomorphic, dolphins, cockroaches, crows, rats, spiders, octopus, Kintore’s desert skinks; and just as we can manipulate, a bit clumsily, matter and energy and three dimensions, there are likely to be civilisations who can manipulate some of the other dimensions including time and whatever the other 9 (?) dimensions there are screwed up into little invisible curly bits in our galaxy. Infinitely long sentence there, sorry, have added a semi-colon as you were reading.

Speaking of time, I wrote a little while ago about the National Library archiving Australian blog sites these days. I assume other national libraries around the world are doing likewise. Also remember seeing that some American institution had archived the first, was it 5 billion, tweets from everywhere. Made me think of a couple of friends who have recently been diagnosed with Alzeimers, but some degree of memory loss afflicts us all as we age more or less (very much less in my case these days) gracefully. My grandmother in old age could remember perfectly single events from, say, 1912, or 1923, or 1935, but had trouble remembering what she had had for lunch an hour earlier. My mother, as she neared her unpredicted end, had increasing trouble distinguishing reality, including historical reality, from a dream she had just had. She began effectively living in and out of a dream world of virtual reality. So I thought how useful it would be if some national organisation could be set up to archive our thoughts and ideas as well as our blogs and other writing and tweets. Otherwise it all gets lost – seems like a big waste after taking a life time to get it all worked out “when all is said and done” (an expression of my grandmother’s in fact, she lives in my memory, and here).

This week too saw two houses in our small village go up in flames. Both unpredictable and unpreventable (like memory loss), both involving considerable losses from rich lives, though neither thankfully involving any loss of life. People often ask, first up, in such cases, “were they insured?” and, the answer being yes, turn away with a mental shrug as if to say, “well, what then?” But such a loss of possessions (I mean real possessions, not appliances and furniture and stuff) is one of my great life-fears (got ‘em on a list, I think, somewhere). I know people (ok, only a few) who go through life with no accumulation of physical objects from that life. In fact one family I know have so few personal possessions that if a bushfire was heading for their house, and they were told they had 5 minutes to collect personal belongings would stand in the hallway, look around puzzled, and come out 30 seconds later empty handed. But most of us go through life like a case-moth caterpillar, adding a skin of time, time made physical through beloved or significant objects, to our physical bodies. And losing that case would be to lose a very significant part of our beings. Well, mine anyway. “Speak for yourself Horton”, I hear you say, and I do, always.

Seem to be losing track. There were a couple of other enormously significant things that occurred to me this week. Ah yes, one was the internet as a microcosm of life. A microcosm of A life. We go through life, unless we live always in a very small village of immobile people, or in an unknown tribe without a word for time, gaining and losing friends and acquaintances. BFF forever made in primary school are left behind after a month of high school; the band of brothers and sisters who sailed the stormy seas of adolescence together are cast aside like flotsam and jetsam on the turbulent oceans of work and university and marriage; those we share jobs with, difficult workplaces, interesting projects or adventures, impossible bosses, stupendous tasks, are often not seen again when the quest is ended. Oh there are friends we can retain, clinging to the same piece of driftwood, or different pieces roped together, or different pieces where contact can be maintained by constant shouted communication. Valued all the more for the retained memories of long lives lived in contact. Really BFF. But this is all played out over the seemingly (at least in its early decades) infinite time of the average life. These days the internet speeds it all up. People who write flattering responses to a post you publish one day are gone (or changed their online identity) by the next. Email communication, twittering, threads shared on other blogs (hail fellow well met), are all so transient that we seem to make and lose new friends in the flicker of a modem light. Perhaps the Library should archive our online friendships as well as our deathless prose. All our friendships.

There was one Last Thing, what was it now?

Gone.

The ragged trousered philanthropist

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Because I am a philanthropist, in words if not finances, can I offer a couple of free suggestions to Julia Gillard and the Labor Party. I mean you are doing about as well as Gordon Brown just before the Cameron landslide, or John Howard before the Kevin Rudd one. Sorry, that was a bit mean-spirited – how about Malcolm Fraser before the Hawke deluge?

Anyway, suggestion one. Julia, call Bob Brown, apologise. Arrange to meet for dinner. He is a charming dinner companion you will get on well. Say that you recognise, now, that Greens are normal human beings who have jobs, families, and values very similar (I’m guessing, and we’ll come to that) to your own. That having, belatedly, read some Australian Labor Party history, you recognise, now, that in many ways the Greens represent the Labor Party of Chifley and Curtin, of Whitlam and Cairns. That the Labor party has lost what was once its progressive wing in the way that it once lost its regressive wing (the DLP) and is suffering for it. That you understand that while there are disagreements between Labor and the Greens in relation to the importance of environmental issues and one or two others, these are not insurmountable. That you would like therefore to see a formal coalition (joint party room, shared ministries), in government, between the two parties, in the way that the Liberals and Nationals, facing similar policy agreements and disagreements, have successfully managed for over half a century. That you realise that there will be objections within both parties, at elected and grass-roots levels, but that with goodwill this should be something that two social democratic parties should be able to overcome. The alternative being another long-lasting Liberal/National coalition government led by the most regressive members of that coalition and creating an Australia anathema to both Labor and Green parties. All elections are critical, but the next one is arguably the most critical ever seen for the future of this country and planet, and we no longer have the luxury of the two left-wing parties of Australian politics slagging each other off more than they do the real political enemy.

Right, that’s the structural thing out of the way, and it is a biggie.

Now, you yourself Julia. I know everyone has had a go at your style of public speaking (just between you and me I have been known to yell in despair at the TV – “no, don’t say it like that Julia, don’t say that” – the most recent example was when you responded to Malcolm Turnbull’s thoughtful interview on climate change as follows “Malcolm Turnbull told us the truth. He told us the truth that basically this plan won’t work. He told us the truth that it would blow the budget.” – that kind of repetition, and negativity, is what drives people like me to despair) but that isn’t much use without something positive to suggest. And telling you to change the style (I’m guessing) you have had since high school doesn’t get either of us very far. So here is a positive suggestion, and a bit more Labor history (in a very broad sense). According to WikiPresident Franklin Roosevelt first used “fireside chats” in 1929 during his first term as Governor of New York. He faced a conservative Republican legislature so during each legislative session he would occasionally address the citizens of New York directly. He appealed to them for help getting his agenda passed. Letters would pour in following each of these “chats,” which helped pressure legislators to pass measures Roosevelt had proposed. He began making the informal addresses as President on March 12, 1933, during the Great Depression“. These “informal” chats came to be called “fireside chats”, not sure why, partly I think because his audience were sitting around the fireside listening to the radio, partly because the illusion they presented was that Roosevelt himself was sitting by the fire in the White House, in a comfortable chair, talking personally, as to a hundred million friends, about the important issues he and they were concerned with (the Depression in general, and then the War).

Again turning to Wiki for an explanation of the success of these chats (Roosevelt would receive millions of letters in response to each one):
Rhetorical Manner
Sometimes beginning his talks with “Good evening, friends”, Roosevelt urged listeners to have faith in the banks and to support his New Deal measures. The “fireside chats” were considered enormously successful and attracted more listeners than the most popular radio shows during the “Golden Age of Radio.” Roosevelt continued his broadcasts into the 1940s, as Americans turned their attention to World War II. Roosevelt’s first fireside chat was March 12, 1933, which marked the beginning of a series of 30 radio broadcasts to the American people reassuring them the nation was going to recover and shared his hopes and plans for the country. The chats ranged from fifteen to forty-five minutes and eighty percent of the words used were in the one thousand most commonly used words in the English dictionary.
Where Roosevelt’s Simplicity and Clarity Come from?
When Roosevelt was doing his chats he wanted them to be simplistic and clear. He wanted to be clear enough for his audience to understand what he was saying because it was important to him. He came up with three techniques to make his chats clear and simple. First, he wanted easy to read and open language use. Second, he wanted to include many concrete examples and explanations into his text. Third, he wanted simple organization in his text.
How did he make his chats persuasive?
There were four tips that Roosevelt used to persuade his audience when he gave his chats. The first was he used the word “We” when he made claims. He wanted the audience to feel like they were a part of the chats. Second, he embedded his claims into objective statements. Third, he used a lot of adverbs and adjectives. Finally, he made his language go from soft to hard. Slowly draw his listeners in and hit them hard later on.


Memorise those tips Julia, make them a part of your being. I want you to start “fireside chats” to the nation. Literally, sit by a fire in the Lodge in a comfortable chair, having had a nice dinner, couple glasses red wine, and now a beautifully made fresh pot of coffee ready to pour your first cup. Just a single camera there, and you start talking through it (not to it as you usually do), forgetting it is there at all, to the people of Australia, to all your friends, as if they were sitting in the other comfortable chair with a cup of coffee. You speak softly and quietly and warmly, as you are just talking to your friend. And what do you talk about? Well, this is just as important as the ambience. You will talk about the “Why” of what you are doing. Not the “what” and the “how” and the “when” and the “how much” and how you are being blocked by the Opposition. There is no opposition in the room, just you and your friend.

Explain the “Why” of a Carbon Tax in relation to global warming, the why of plain packaging of cigarettes, the why of improving conditions for workers, the why of health reform, the why of mining resources taxes, the why of improving education, the why of saving the Murray and old growth forest, why infrastructure like the National Broadband Network is important, and so on. Let your own ideas, and those of your Green partners, flow out to explain clearly and simply to the people why these policies are important. In doing so you will, as Roosevelt intended, bypass the vicious spin of the Murdoch Press and the shock jocks and you will communicate directly to your friends the Australian people. And if they understand the why they will understand the reasons in a way that the dull recitations of what and how doesn’t do (this was the mistake Kevin made too). So you will bring them with you instead of letting them be alienated. And it will serve another purpose too – you will also start to consider more fully the why of existing policies, and some of those might be changed as a result (think refugees, think gay marriage, think free trade). And when they are changed to something more reflecting your social democrat ideals you will then in turn be able to let the public see the reason for the new policy, the “Why” behind your change of mind.

Oh you won’t win them all, in some cases the public will disagree with your “Why”.

But at the moment you aren’t winning any of them.

Feel free, adopt both ideas, quickly. No gratitude needed, say they were your ideas. I’ll keep shtum, just the warm glow of a job well done is enough for this philanthropist.

Or are they just the products of a fevered brow (nah, not so fevered today), or somewhat ragged trousers?

Blowing in the wind

6

There was once, my older readers will remember, a Victorian premier called Henry Bolte. Remembered now only for ensuring that he would be the last state premier to order a hanging in Australia, and for his famous response to the growing concern about the environment in the 1960s. “Air pollution? The wind blows it away. Water pollution? The sea washes it away.”

He would have thoroughly approved of the work at the crippled nuclear reactors in Japan, as water rich in radioactivity was pumped out to sea. What could go wrong – radioactive fish? As indeed what could go wrong with pumping chemicals down into coal seams to extract gas in rich farming areas with deep alluvial soils? I mean, where could the chemicals finish up – in bore water? Or open slather import of foods (exploding watermelons anyone?) and toys (high lead levels anyone?) from other countries with poor safety and regulation records, no chance of any problem there for our children?

Look, maybe I am an extra bit sensitive at the moment, given circumstances, but I think we have all got a bit blase about chemicals in the environment. Concern in the 1960s eventually got smoothed over, wished away, regulations gradually relaxed in the interests, you understand, of increasing profits. But now I wince when I read about coal seam “fracking”, shudder when I see trucks spraying weeds along roadsides as I drive past, groan when I see a bunch of grapes in a supermarket labelled “exposed to SO2″, worry about the nuclear industry push in Australia. And each time I read a study showing an inexplicable increase in some childhood (or adult) medical condition once largely unknown I wonder whether the pollution Bolte so blithely waved goodbye to as it blew away from Victoria has gone around the globe and come back to bite us all.

And I don’t know what we can do about it. I was as careful as could be about what I ate and drank and used in the garden, on the farm, but if there are invisible tasteless chemicals, in the air we breathe in the city, or the food we buy in supermarkets, or the water we drink in the country, then careful doesn’t really cut it.

The environment needs the old Hippocratic oath applied to it – first do no harm. After that make all the profit you like. Henry Bolte believed in the reverse, but then he believed in hanging people too. Times are a changing, aren’t they?