Today’s Musical Dispatch from the Front tackles stereotyping and its nefarious results.  First published 9 August 2013.  (Second part next week) As usual, Google Translate will help with parts in a language with which you are not familiar)

Добрий день мої друзі

When I lived in Alberta (Canada) ‘Ukrainian’ jokes were in vogue. A friend of Ukrainian descent tried to start a new trend: ‘Anglo-Saxon’ jokes. To no avail, he came to the conclusion that English speakers weren’t all that funny.

An example: “What do you call a Ukrainian running after a garbage truck?”…. “The galloping gourmet” (a popular TV cooking show at the time)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mY4Qi7J4ag

From my dad’s anecdotes (from occupied Holland during WWII):
In the villa, there was a telephone exchange. Everyone had been invited to Mr. Otten (one of the suppliers)’s birthday party. The village had been left almost vacant. Lucas and I stayed behind. Before the war, Lucas had served on Dutch submarines, and he therefore had a good understanding of electronics. Whilst I kept a look out, Lucas went to work. Not only did he cut wires, but he also cross-wired and soldered wires together. Lucas had his eye on the beautiful curtains, and I had to dissuade him from taking them (“are you off your rocker? Hurry up we’ve got to get out of here!”). It all took too long and we disturbed the guards. The front gate had been locked. We had to leave through the heavily guarded back. We flew over the back yard and over the two meter high wall, and if we’d been in the Olympics we’d both would have got medals! A group of Ukrainian guards with their guard dogs chased us. We ran off (more medals!) and escaped into a garden……

[Dad had told me that the Germans had deployed Ukrainian sharpshooters all over Europe as guards. Ukrainians had initially seen the Nazis as ‘liberators’ (from the Russians) and some had enthusiastically joined the German army. Dad tells me that the ones guarding the villa at Aerdenhout had on normal German army uniforms, with a tiny ‘Ukraine’ embroidered on the shoulders]

.“Guten Morgen Herr Breitruck”, “Guten Morgen??…Wissen Sie nicht was da gestern abend passiert ist? …da sind Schweine hier rein gekomen, und haben die ganze Telefonzentrale vernichtet. Sie wussten was die taten”, “Wie sind die denn weg gekommen?” “Da, über die Mauer, durch die Minen…” “Ach, Minen, Minen, überall steht ‘Vorsicht Minen’…” “DA! LIEGEN MINEN!”.

The next morning we turned up for work as per usual. “Good morning Mr. Breitruck” “Good morning??…don’t you know what happened last night? Some bastards came in last night and destroyed the telephone exchange. They knew what they were doing” “How did they get away?” “There, over that wall, through that mine field…” “Ah well, mine-field, mine-field, what mine-field? There are signs ‘Danger Mines’ all over the place…” “THERE, THERE ARE MINES!” When he said that, I could taste my breakfast in my mouth! It turned out the telephone exchange was far more important to the Germans than we had ever imagined…..

For the rest of his life dad had a fairly intense dislike of Ukrainians. Never mind that Ukrainians were between a rock and a hard place.

Not really a great choice between the Nazi ‘liberators’ and the Soviet oppressors.
As far as dad was concerned they were and remained traitors.
A small step to ‘Ukraine, a Nation of Traitors’

A small step to a nation of ‘not all that funny people’, Never mind all the British comedy greats on television.

A small step from refugees to (heaven forbid!) economic migrants and queue jumpers.

Thus functions stereotyping.

(continued next week)

Hey Kids. Not all terrorists wear beards and hold a copy of the KORAN. These two are the sneaky type terrorists. We lock them up for our own SAFETY!

Great news from Canberra. The new draconian terrorist laws are at last being put to good use. We’ve been worried since 9/11 about public safety. Every day our anti terrorist fridge magnets remind us of just how vulnerable we are . And the clock keeps ticking on when we’ll have to go into lockdown at pcbycp headquarters. We practise a drill every Thursday just after morning tea. Clarrie, rings the bell, which gives us five minutes to prepare for “Lockdown mode”. 

No time for black armband view of History. Australians deserve to be SAFE!

WE gather up loose items of furniture, like the technicolour poof and the velour bean bags, and ensure that in the event of a cataclysmic event, we are ready. Mrs Rintoul hands out gas masks, a tin whistle, a safety vest and the utility belts. Each belt is equipped with a pair of plyers, a bicycle pump and rolls of electricians tape. We have it on good authority that terrorists like to tape up alarm clocks, mobile phones, anything that can be used as an explosive decvice, so one can’t be too careful. Then, with just a minute to go Mrs Crinklade presses the button which makes the office go “Code Red”. All of a sudden a flashing light, (it was borrowed of Clarries’ emergency services vehicle) starts flashing. It’s stuck with gaffer tape onto the tray of the Roneo Machine.  In seconds flat we get under the desks and wait. We wait until Mr Dobbs, the typesetter signals the “All Clear’. If it is a real terrorist attack we crawl along the floor and enter the stationery cupboard. It’s fully airtight and 100 percent SAFE.  Once inside you can’t hear anything. Because it’s got a star on the door we call it the “Star Chamber”. Bit like a cone of silence in which the echo of your words are all that’s heard. And cos it’s clausterphobic, sometimes all you get is a sense of insecurity and paranoia. Mr Wanliss the Pencil sharpener suggested that was a “paradox”. But I don’t think it’s at all like that sheila that opened the box and all the evil came out. Such stuff is superstitious NONSENSE!  Still, It’s quite exciting that we’re doing our bit to fight terrorism. And by doing our bit we’re all making a contribution to keeping our country “SAFE”!!

Sneaky Terrorist Lawyer, helping those who would confect stories about Australian spies.

That’s why it’s a good turn of the government to initiate their own Star Chamber on that lawyer who was trying to help Mister K present his case about the East Timorese. The Lawyer, (Mr Bernard Collaery) was trying to suggest that Australia was treating the poorest nation on earth, as scum to be crushed neath the jackboot of its political and economic dogmatism. He was trying to suggest that the Australian government and successive Australian governments acting on behalf of big business were trying to screw the poorest nation on earth. And wait for it, had bugged the East Timorse parliament, offices, and everything. His suggestion is that Australia, when it can get away with it doesn’t play “cricket” with our smaller neighbours. His suggestion, we would suggest besmirches the Australian government as the most decent, fair minded organisation anywhere. And run by decent blokes you can trust like Alexander Downer, who is a terrific bloke and speaks like a toffy nosed POM. What a ratbag this Mr Collaery is. To question the  integrity and the whole apparatus of the government dealing with lesser people’s is beyond question. 

This could be the mysterious Mr K.

We applaud the decision to lock-up this malcontent under terrorist laws. WE applaud the raid on his offices in the dead of night. And we applaud the charging of him and his so called Mr K with terrorist offences. And whilst they’re at it, book Henry the Horse for riding without a license. For offenses so vile that we can’t even report on it. We hope the bastard gets locked away for years. The  fact that he’s not even a whisltblower and was just doing his job is further reason to jail him. Cos he needs to fear the retribution of a government that doesn’t like to look ‘soft-cock’ on terrorism.

And he needs to know that his pursuit of truth, justice and integrity has made us UNSAFE. He put himself before the interests of descent fair minded people in government. And like the proverbial Hong Kong bookseller, his impudence must be punished. 

Hooray the Star Chamber. And strike a blow against terrorism. It has many guises, and must be ethics free to keep us SAFE!

UNITE AGAINST TERRORISM, (and ordinary folk just doing their job) to keep us SAFE!!!

Mateship and Fossils. Herald Australia’s SPACE AGE!

Dear reader, we agree it’s hard keeping track of just what’s gonna happen next in Canberra. Almost impossible to predict what far reaching fragment of super intelligence will trickle down to us, the average voter. Well the good news is that COAL, good ol “King Coal” is back on the agenda. 

Now before you push away your Weetbix and say, “this just can’t be”, we need to tell you that minds immeasurably superior to ours have been hard at it convincing the P.M and a couple of recalcitrant front benchers that the policy directive this country needs is MORE COAL!.

And you may be shocked. You may pound the table and say. “MORE COAL”?.. 

“How could this be”? 

Kelly to Abbott.’And we’ll get the taxpayer to foot the bill, whilst we do an Andrew Robb and piss off to China”. Abbott to Kelly; “You fuckin Bewdy!”

“Isn’t COAL amongst other burnable things one of the most causatory elementals tied to the existential dillemna of global warming? The one that the former greatest PM ever, Kevin Rudd, decried as being of our time? Isn’t COAL rotten! Rotten to the core of its blackness! And isn’t it true that not even bankers and mum and dad investors will go near the stuff nowadays. Aint COAL a stranded assett? Aint the cost of renewables and battery storage and NEW Technology rendered COAL dead? Aint COAL a bastard child unwrought from the Industrial Revolution? 

Yes you may be right. 

But Tony Abbott and Craig Kelly, (“Ol King Cole” we call him) are all for COAL. And though no bank will touch it, they reckon it’s time we the taxpayer subsidised new dirty inefficient coal power plants. 

In spite of all the evidence, they wanna give coal the tick, and give the Great Barrier Reef, the Murray Darling Basin, ecosystems, Antartcia and all biota the flick. They’re in for the short term. Ecology and the world greatest living organism don’t fit into a three year cycle. And besides, they aint God ordained. 

But there is a reason. You’d think that successive governments had defunded reseach and technical expertise to the bone, but from the vastess of the Carmichael Basin the future of science beckons.

Australlia, this Sunday, is launching its own re- booted Space Race Two. 

Our First Space Race looked like this.

We’re in it for good this time. There’s billions to be made out of space. And just to show we’re fair dinkum about it, we’re gonna set up a Space Agency, a Space Institute and we’ve got the space to do it. 

And here’s the best part. You may think that COAL is killing the planet. Well, that and the Neo liberal experiment. But what’s gonna power these new interplanetary rocket ships? What fuel will be used to blast those proudly locally made space craft into the oblivion? And what will guide us to find new planetary systems and whatever pasess for civilisation out there in the cosmos? So we can fuck it up!!

The Bradman. Out there beyond Uranus, searching for planets rich in COAL!

You guessed it Australia’s, fleet of rockets will be COAL POWERED!

Coal Power will drive this country’s destiny to infinity and beyond. Cos, it’s unquestionable. Coal, is good for humanity. It’s a way forward. And its a long term reliable and proven way of fucking up ecosystems anywhere.

Watch this space as we present to you, (secreted from the drawing board of the Australian space agency’s design drawer) the blueprint for our first rocket . To be launched from Woomera in 2025. 

“The Bradman”. 

The Future is ours. In Coal we trust. 

Old school policing. In the pub. One of “us”

You know we’re pretty naive at pcbycp. We sometimes think we’re really cogent. Up to the mark. Witty and incisive. But we’re not. Just a couple of old malcontents banging away into the emptiness of the ether. Out culture of complaint is skewed in nostalgia. Yearning for a cultural construct that used to be called a “society”. WE still believe in the indisoluble rights of human kind, and wince every time we hear of another catastrophe from the gulags of the near north. Their crime, for being “Un-Australian”. 

But we console ourselves. The gulags are designed to keep us SAFE!

Protesters. RATBAGS!

Part of this nostalgia is rooted in the fantasy that our finest, the police force is here to help us. It’s the pinacle of the citizenry. To represent “US”. By those who “Uphold the Right”. To protect and ensure that society, we as a commuity co exist and achieve our goals, spiritual, humanitarian, material and philsophical under the protective mantle of law and order. And the police representing us, are and extension of the archetype. The familiar local policeman, gruff, stern, no nonsense, but an indispensible part of the community, at the footy, at the bottle drive , at the school gate as one of “US”. 

We’ve gone fully Yuendumu on this one.  The police force is a distortion of who we are, or perhaps a more accurate depiction of what we’ve become. Insecure, isolated, defensive, and bristling with snarling, contemptuous agression. It’s a reflection of us. And at the heart of it all, the deep abyss of insecurity,  the same force that makes nationalists out of politicians, hands votes to One Nation, and  invariably masks, (barely) the shit stink of corruption. What was that phrase about “absolute power”?

Welcome ROBOCOP. Are we really this paranoid?

In Melbourne the other day the cops were out in force. There was a demo on. A handful of white supremacist fascists (representing tail wagging official government policy), and a larger group of liberals proclaiming love for humanity, refugee rights and all the other stuff that registers in a compassionate society stood on  either side of th street.  Both groups allowed to express their differences and project their vitriol against each other is what happens in a pluralistic liberal democratic society. However, what shouldn’t happen is the outnumbering of protesters to police on a ratio of five to one. Who are they protecting? Do we need pahalanxes of mounted police on horses? Serried ranks, (they’re always serried) of policemen in riot gear, helicopters in the sky, film units, stern faced Gauleiters directing operations, and all of them, to a man woman and bicyclist, armed to the teeth and wearing black?

We at pcbycp are confused. Is this overkill? Or is this a symptom of society being KILLED? And why the black? WE acknowledge it was used to great effect in marching off most of eastern europe’s Jewry and other “undesirables” to the death camps, and we know it’s also steampunk chic as defined by Darth Vader. But surely a more convivial public safety law and order getup could be found?

The friendly old-school archetype.

If there’s a brawl, step in. But the scale and over-reach suggested one thing. The citizenry are not the pinnacle of society, but a business unit. And those who “uphold the right” are not one of us. It’s “them” and  not “Us” that they’re here to help. And their scariness and all the guns, imply they dont much care for what we think about it either. 

It’s the paranoia. and insecurity within us. The dark force unleashed. Move along move along, nothing to see here. 

Blind Justice. 

Keeping us Safe. 

For Airmen

For Airmen
Edwin Tanner

The land:
An oil slick on the ocean;
Pale
Opal.

My plane:
A filagree
With its jagged shadow
Both
Stutter over the sea.

Pilots:
Have faith in your instruments,
Your feet,
Your hands,
And in your seats.

Never fly reading Bibles.

G’day Lerts  (Be a Lert- do not be a Larmd)

We entered (and exited) the United States of America twice during the epic trip mentioned in the previous Dispatch. The first time, we stopped in Butte, Montana where I went on a tour of the Berkeley Pit, a kilometre long open pit copper mine, which has since become one of the world’s largest toxic sites. We camped on top of a cliff overlooking the city. We were visited by a very unusual American, an unarmed policeman. He told us he had joined the police force on his return from Vietnam determined to “do Good”. He saw his intervention and peaceful resolution in domestic disputes as the most worthwhile aspect of what he did. Blessed are the peacemakers. He then went on to tell us that the place we were camped at had not long before been the dumping ground for the bodies of a number of murdered prostitutes. But, he reassured us we were perfectly safe. The murders had been targeted, and we weren’t the target. In Montana we also visited the Custer Memorial National Park, but that is another story. Suffice it to say that Montana and Australia have something in common in that both commemorate and glorify military disasters (The Battle of the Little Bighorn and the Gallipoli Landing) A memorable Montana roadside billboard featuring a block of ice on a frypan proclaimed “Limited Warfare is like Fried Ice” (code for “Nuke the Gooks”).

After we re-entered the US at Niagara Falls, we mostly camped at some magnificent well kept roadside stops (toilets, firewood, water). If we’d stayed at motels we would have run out of money and missed our booked ship in Panama. The “No Camping” signs we ignored and no authorities came the heavy. Americans we spoke to were all surprised, thought we were either brave or insane and asked us if we thought we were safe. We never stayed long, and had no reason to fear for our lives. We felt perfectly safe.

As we descended into the deep South, the roadside stops disappeared.

Late one night we asked an old toothless gas jockey in a trench coat (with the exception of the trench coat it describes me, albeit half a century later) if we could camp overnight on his service station parking lot. We were sleeping in our $CAN300 panel van. No problem, and as we were settling in, the old guy schlepped his way across and reassured us that we were perfectly safe. He reiterated his assurance that we were perfectly safe whilst opening his trench coat to reveal hanging from a belt a large revolver in a holster. He then told of what in hindsight must have been the highlight of his life. “One time this feller tried to hold me up, a niggra he was, he’d got hold of the gun I kept under the counter. Imagine!! He was holdin’ me up WITH MAH OWN GUN! MAH OWN GUN!!!! He didn’t know I had another gun ‘Boy, youse in big enuff trouble already’ I hollered at him. He hesitated and then I shot him. The bullet went in hear (indicating the middle of his forehead) and came out hear (indicating the back of his head). Heh heh heh heh (he chuckled). He then proceeded to tell us his wife had ‘done run away’, and that he regularly went to church, and that he was a real sucker for “them travelin’ preachers” whom he made generous donations to.

As you can imagine we then felt perfectly safe (there really needs to be a font for “ironic”)

Perfectly Safe (Methodist Church- Augusta Georgia)….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrkI80Ar-5U

As I’m writing this a “Google Alarm” popped up on my email in-tray– back to the future- “Reminder- Safe 4 Kids Program Dates 14/03/2016-18/03/2016 … 16 minutes overdue “

Once a week for the last couple of years I’ve been Reminded/Alerted/Alarmed, I’m yet to find out how to switch it off.

Yuendumu Community Safety Action Plan Meetings are held on the first Thursday of the month. The minutes of the December 2017 meeting of the Yuendumu Community Safety Committee reveal there were 28 attendees. Things are looking up, the 28 conscientious (and mostly well paid) attendees, included two Warlpiri men and quite a few Government employees or contractors who travelled all the way from Alice Springs to attend the meeting, intent on doing their bit to Close the Gap.

I must confess I’ve been reniss in my civic duties. I am yet to attend one of these you beaut meetings.

I think I missed something. Living in Yuendumu I feel perfectly safe. Our free range children who grew up in Yuendumu were also perfectly safe.

Hard to imagine but all the time we felt and were perfectly safe in Yuendumu, we never wore hi vis vests nor did we install one of those 2003 “be alert don’t be alarmed” anti-terrorism hotline fridge magnets.

Even more so, do I feel perfectly safe now we have a $7.5M police complex.

The switch by NT Police from earth coloured khaki to Ninja black uniforms and the introduction of those ‘Swiss Army Knife’ belts (gun, taser, torch, capsicum spray, baton, nail clippers etc) are all very reassuring as is the NT police motto:

Working in partnership with the community to ensure a safe and resilient Northern Territory.

I can’t top that.

Es-salam-aleikum

Frank

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra2Qndv_xeE
Robert Cray… Don’t be afraid of the dark

Sensational news. Just last week, we at pcbycp were in a fix. We’d run out of milk for the morning tea, and Wally the plumber who suffers from lumbago, said that as he was late home from Bingo the other night, he couldn’t drop by and deliver the briquettes as promised.  WE were in a word, “stuffed” the weather is getting quite nippy and we’d planned to do a mailout of posters to be put outside milk bars, (another threatened species) and Tabaret’s, warning of the dangers of global warming. 

Our corner milk bar. Soon to be converted by the Shen Wah corporation.

We’ve been tirelessly performing this task since 2017. It was an initative of Ms Krinklade the typesetter when she had to wait for the Centrelink lady to call her back. She thought something must be done about global warming, and rather than wait on the phone, she put it on hold, and planted three rows of cabbages in the backyard. Not content with this, she wandered down to the local service station and had quite a significant talk to Achmed, the attendant, and he promised on the spot, to use paper rather than plastic bags. “Act locally, think globally” she said, and Achmed salaamed her as she trotted own back home, only to find that the call was still on hold from Centrelink. 

Mr Sidebotham on the Roneo Machine

Because we couldn’t get the briquettes, and none of us had a car, (declared unroadworthy by the Public Safety Officer and  being ineligible for the imported vehicles tax benefit ) as outlined in the new tax cuts, we had a bit of a think tank session. Clarrie, the typist, (we employ old- school types at pcbycp) suggested that as we were in actual fact a small business we might be eligible for one of the Federal Government start up funds. He also said that as we were a charity we might be able to augment the cost of briquettes with the company tax offset benefit 2. B, and get the briquettes delivered for free. And, this was the exciting part, he suggested that as we were both a small business and a charity, with a proven track record in sending out leaflets, fridge magnets and “have a nice day badges” with a ‘fight global warming’ message, we might be eligible for one of the Federal Government grants. Grants designed to tackle really significant issues like global warming or saving the Great Barrier Reef. 

Mr Sidebotham, (the typesetter) and Mrs Rintoul, the Roneo machine operator filled out the correct forms and typed a request. We put the “Save the panet and act locally think globally” on the letterhead, and sent it off to Canberra with a request to seek 15.95, for the briqeuettes, and $1.55 for the milk allowance. 

Yesterday we received a cheque for five hundred million dollars. 

Clarrie and Wally in the staff room talking about the Tax offset B.

WE are besides ourselves with joy. We’ve just relisted pcbycp as a charitable mimimum liability fund in the Bahamas, and Clarrie is receiving augmented facial enhancement surgery as we type. 

We’ve been saved by the Federal Government. They require no paper work. No aquittal, nothing, but the affirmation from our side that we’re doing the heavy lifting. 

Thankyou Federal Government, you’ve proved you care. 

The planet will be a better place for it. 

The new Aston Martin DB 9 arrives tomorrow, we’ll need it to demonstrate we’re a significant charity from now on. We’re all on senior management salaries. If we didn’t, no one would respect us. 

At last “The Man who wanted to be PM” is standing up for women. On the floor of Parliament, with the last few remaining women in the Liberal Party he decried the abuse of women. Determined to show leadership on the issue he issued a statement that his party will contribute a large sum of money, almost as large as that committed to saving the Orange Bellied Parrot to a charity.  And that charity will do something about the near extinction of women in his party. Not quite as much as the thirty million given to Rupert for free, or the five hundred million to the other charity to do posters on the Great Barrier Reef, but still, nonetheless, a very significant amount of money. Money that will be put into research to find out just why women are dissappearing from the Liberal Party. He acknowledged, there are still great opportuntites for women in the party. “At out last National Conference, not all the tea ladies were women, which shows there’s still ranks to be filled. A potential limited only  by womens imagination”! 

The ranks of women behind the PM, all nodded in furious agreement. And to further their cause the Minister for “Expensive Military Projects now we’ve killed off Car Manufacturing”,  Christopher Pyne sat down amongst them.  A show of true solidarity. On hand Mitch Fifield added weight to the PM’s determination. “We’re gonna establish a task force. And we’ll use some of the money we’ve gained after axing all those jobs at the ABC, and having a go at those malcontents Emma Alberici and Laura Tingle for asking tricky question will be funneled into a “Ministry for Womens Issues”. To head the taskforce, we’ve got the former P.M Tony Abbott. Christ mate, he’s got three daughters, a wife, and he worked with Peta Credlin, If he can’t tackle the sheilah problem no-one else can. I can tell you here and now there’s no problem with the party on misogyny. And besides, I identitfy with those women who can’t get pre-selection in any of our branches. Probably because, they’re not good lookin enough. Now I come to think of it, my mother may have been a woman”?

The Senator for Multicultralism, Tokenism and Window  Dressing, Ms Feravanti Wells was on hand to offer her furious support. “There is no bar for women in the party. They can seek pre selection and be rest-assured that they will stand side by side with their male colleagues. And though they may not wear a recognisable fashion label thay may still be seen as equals. Even though they may not find the paltry two hundred though enough to sustain their lifestyle’. 

Asked if the spate of violent attacks had anything to do with the sustained government de-funding of education, mental health services, community and everything, the PM, rebuffed:  “There is no link with other externalities. This is a problem we must all tackle in lock step and prove this is beyond a gesture. To guarantee women are safe, and able to do what we blokes take for granted. 

And make a significant gesture about where we’re at as a society”

A vandalised bunch of flowers in a park.

And another dead woman. 

Three wise men have nothing to say about the ABC. Find out on Skynews.

Fascinating reading the daily feeds on the internet these days. On the ABC news webpage thingy* not one mention of the Liberal Party’s National Council’s intelligent decision to knock off the ABC. The motion put forward by the IPA is a sound one. Sell it off, or let someone else run the show for ALL Australians. We at pcbycp heartilly agree, and hope that with Clive Palmer Mk2, The United Australia Party, lies the man with the integrity, honesty and trust for facts to put at the helm. With Clive at the wheel we know the ABC would be WELL RUN!. May not be so good for the staff, but with privatisation the shareholders would get a bloody good dividend. From the asets sales, buildings, infrastructure, wireless sets and Tony Jones thought-bubbles, a pretty penny could be returned to those with the integrity to stump up the cash. And a bit like Clive’s nephew, they could sock away all those profits, (probably much the same as Rupert does when he gets a taxpayer free subsidy or gift) to then fuck off to Hungary and never ever be seen again. That’s accountability. And Asic wont go near em. Cos those corporate regulators are SOFT-COCKS!

So go on! We dare you. Take a look. There’s nothing TODAY on the ABC news website about selling it off. It’s almost like it NEVER REALLY HAPPENED. Spose that’s why Josh and his mates were on Skynews, (the only unbiased authoritative news desk) to tell us it was just a bit of a joke. That the national council and it’s young turks only put it up unaminously as  sort of confected Tony Jones thought-bubble. Bit like the intervention, which never ever really happened. So there’s nothing to see here, and if you’d move along we could focus on more important issues like how Australia is going in the World Cup, and how Vladimir really aint such a bad bloke. Without him, western democracies would be stuffed. 

The Two Clives. The one on the right has promised the one on the left he’ll be Attorney General when he’s P.M. Mateship at work.

Guest of Honour at the Liberal Conference. Our Greatest PM EVER!!

That’s what Clive reckons. He reckons if we just pulled together, he’d offer us a rational alternative. He’s got the simple answers to complex questions and knows as a bible belt fundamentaist Queenslander what Australia needs. We need to respect institutions that make this country great. And we need to restore trust in politicians, so that we can pat them on the back when their brother in law or nephew socks away millions on workers rights and pisses off to Hungary. Cos that’s what makes this country great. Seliing off stuff you don’t own to mates and telling em all awhile that as a great Aussie, just like Tony, Malcolm, and the inner sanctum of the IPA that Aussies have never had it so good. And that’s the RIGHT STUFF! So no Aussie cricketer will ever be embarrassd by a fragment of yellow sandpaper. So that no kiddy may ever wonder about the glory of our founding fathers. And no little mother need ever question the righteous need for good men to stone women as dictated in the Old Testament. Good values is what this country needs. And Clive has the answers. 

But you probably wont read that on the ABC either. Go ask Mr Mensinck, (his nephew) and top marks.

Clive Mensink, before he pissed off to Eastern Europe.

If you can find him. 

* They just put one in with Shorten decrying the decision.(Monday morning)…

Bonjour mes amies,

Start your day with a laugh:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmDf7QP5XFs

In 1971 when we did an epic road trip from Calgary (Alberta, Canada) to the Panama Canal on our way back to Australia, our route included the 300 Km stretch from Nashville Tennessee to Birmingham Alabama. From Birmingham we travelled South to New Orleans Louisiana.

In April 1968 Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. In August 1969, Hurricane Camille, one of the 20^th Century’s deadliest hurricanes hit the US States of Mississippi, Alabama and Louisiana. By the time we travelled through the Deep South, the social and physical aftermath of both calamities remained palpably evident.

In Birmingham the Negro (which African Americans were referred to back then) suburbs had a de-facto curfew operating. Whites (‘Pinks’ would be a more accurate description) avoided these areas and as we drove through, we were followed by disbelieving stares (“What them Honkys doin’ round heeya?”)

When we came to no-man’s land we stopped at a small shop which was still open at dusk. As we walked in, the white lady behind the counter asked us what we wanted, as if the black people who preceded us into the shop were invisible. Our body language implying we were quite prepared to wait our turn, revealed our non-local provenance.“Where yoowall from?” We replied “Canada” (less complicated than “Australia”). The hostile stares from the black people in the shop showed us we had broken local protocols by acting in a non-arrogant way, thereby denying them the opportunity to despise us. After making a few purchases, the lady told us, in a mile long drawl that we had “the cutest lil’ol accent” which just goes to show accents are in the ears of the beholder.

Further South, as we entered Louisiana, we turned into a welcoming place with free coffee.

All along the highway there were derelict boarded up farm houses obviously vacant and covered in lianas vines and creepers. Reclaimed by the swamp.

Hurricane Camille had destroyed many houses and extinguished many homes.

All the same, Louisiana had a friendlier atmosphere. The black/white divide was far less evident.

The Band – Across The Great Divide – 1970….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMPwytwZ3jg

Often when I walk into our shop, me being the kardiya (non-Warlpiri) who tries to manage it, I’m immediately accosted with questions: “are the pies hot?”,“can we get diesel here?”,“do you sell bicycle tubes”. These questions aimed at me are as if the Warlpiri ladies behind the counter are invisible. “Payunumpa Nampijimpa?” (did you ask Nampijimpa?) “she says the pies are still cold” “Yijardu wankaja” (She was telling the truth). Or to the kardiya tourists “We certainly do, these ladies will look after you”

I’m currently savouring Alexis Wright’s 2006 Novel ‘Carpentaria’. I’m consuming it like one does fine liqueur – a tiny glass at a time- I’ve nearly finished it.

Desperance manages to be simultaneously similar and entirely different to Gabriel García Márquez’ Macondo and Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Also in places the novel makes me think of Salvador Dali paintings especially his famous melting clocks. It’s a roller coaster ride, a torrent of words, a kaleidoscope which slips from reality to surrealism from social comment to farce to hilarity and tragedy to spirituality and superstition, intelligence and ignorance, love and evil, greed, hate and compassion. It’s one of those books which allow the reader to read into it what he or she wishes. As someone who has lived on an Australian Aboriginal community I’ve found it full of pearls of wisdom and little shining metaphorical gems.

At one stage Will Phantom who is being hunted by the helicopter borne heavies from the Mine as well as the Federal constabulary for various acts of sabotage and defiance, manages to slip the net by absconding from Desperance in one of Mozzie Fishman’s convoy ‘rustbuckets’. The police have a problem- not a single photograph of Will can be found. A line-up of Will’s relatives is no help- they don’t even look all the same and all look different. To the kardiya Will Phantom lives up to his name- he is invisible.

Many of the officials, bureaucrats, inspectors, politicians, enforcers, consultants, mentors, instructors, contractors, opportunists, controllers, facilitators, and other visitors to Yuendumu, arrive saturated in opinions and preconceptions, armed with pre-written reports, agendas and recommendations. They talk exclusively to kardiya residents or to each other. They know best.

Yapa are invisible.

….Still a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest…. Simon and Garfunkel ‘The Boxer’..

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9QjbG_5UGNE

A bientot,

François