One has to feel very SORRY for the opposition in the Australian Parliament. At a time when the rest of the country was agog with enthusiasm about the 2020 Summit – or expectation, at the very least – these poor things had to adopt the role of critics. Alas they are so bereft that that couldn’t find anything coherent or even pertinent to say.
Starting weeks ago Brendan the Brief discredited himself as a political operator by asserting that the Rudd government has no ideas of its own and had to call on the public to help it out. Actually, Brendan, the Summit was evidence of the government’s ability to harness a really good idea that has the ongoing potential to re-engage the nation with its own future – a process that was viciously attacked by the Howard government every time anybody with something significant to say spoke out.
Another who covered himself in dis-grace was Christopher Pine who knowingly misrepresented the way in which the Summit would work by saying that each idea would get 39.6 seconds of attention. This is so absurd that you’d have to wonder why he’d run the risk of looking like such a goose. Not that anyone, not even people with no idea how a thousand ideas would be processed in one and a half days, would imagine that he could be serious. But they would be entitled to ask, if he can’t say anything substantial about the process, why say anything at all? Why not, in fact, offer his best wishes for the success of the enterprise?
And then there’s Julie Bishop who also couldn’t help making herself look like a substance free zone. Those attending, she solemnly declared, will have every reason to feel cheated if Kevin Rudd pays no attention to their recommendations. This is soooooooooo self evident that it is ridiculous to say it at all. So why say it? Not just because she has nothing of substance to say, but because if she could just play the spoiler, some people who might otherwise have remained open to the possibility of a positive outcome will be encouraged to be gloomy about its prospects, and therefore be less likely to participate at a later stage when momentum gathers for significant social and political change.
Brendan Nelson’s comment after the event was that he met a representative of sex workers and a union official, but found it hard to find anyone from small business and the Australian Medical Association. How could he confine himself to such a trivialising comment. He’d just been involved in a pivotal moment in Australia’s history. A thousand people had earlier given the Prime Minister a standing ovation. Um… or was that nine hundred and ninety nine? His parsimonious account of his experience can be explained by one of two possible dynamics. The first is that he went determined not to be captured by the enthusiasm of the other 999, and succeeded; or he felt that as opposition leader he had to find fault with what the other 999 very clearly found exhilarating. See what I mean when I say we have to feel SORRY for him and his sorry lot.
Oh, and what about Dilly Downer? Responding to the tsunami of support for a republic from the Summit, he predicted that those who opposed the republic would be ridiculed. And that would be a bad thing? Anyone remember the sneering contempt of just about every Howard government minister, not just for their predecessors, but for people who persisted in holding views labelled elitist and politically correct; not just in the immediate aftermath of the 1996 election, but at every election campaign since? It was in this vein that he Downer wrote off the whole Summit as a revival of Keatingesque political correctness – the word Keating intended as a term of abuse. In less than a minute he the spat the word Keating out of his mouth as though it were a vomit lolly from the Harry Potter zone that kept forming in his mouth. Well, a vindication of Keating the Summit was indeed, and it’s so good that you noticed, you flouncing punce. Keating will be honoured in history, while the best thing anyone will ever say about you is that you were the son of a Federal Cabinet Minister, and grandson of a Premier. But the prize goes to his saying that a few conservatives were “roped in to give it a vernier of respectability.” What a pompous fart. Only someone who thinks respectability has something to do with “breeding” could come up with that one. But hey, you globular cluster of sequins and fish net stockings, keep it up. Oh please!! Keep it up.
Malcolm Turnbull’s response to Summit’s enthusiasm for a republic shows that “conservatives” really would rather that the plebs were not involved in running the country. Let’s recall that it was Malcolm who single handedly sunk the Constitutional Convention. As head of the Australian Republican Movement (ARM) he went to the convention with an elitist model – the President to be appointed by the Parliament. Other’s took other models, most of which involved the popular election of the President. It was a rare moment for courageous engagement with the future when it became clear that there was am impasse and the logical thing to do was to sit down and do some actual negotiation. But no, the ARM simply refused to accept any compromise or alternative model. It was to be Malcolm’s way or Howard’s (which, of course, was no republic.) Malcolm Turnbull had the gall to accuse John Howard of breaking the country’s heart when he put up a referendum question that everyone knew would fail. The point to revisit here is that it was Turnbull who refused to budge from the elitist model that was not acceptable to the majority of other republican delegates. Never mind what the people think. I know what will work best. It was hardly surprising, therefore that when the Summiteers championed the republic, he sneered at its prospects, saying that the issue should not come up again until QEII is no longer the monarch.
Of more far reaching consequence is the deliberate misrepresentation of the role of GetUp in the Summit by [National Party politician] who complained that no one from his electorate was going to Canberra, in contrast to over 100 GetUp members which he falsely described as an ALP instrumentality. This is a disgraceful misrepresentation of GetUp and the way the Summiteers were selected. (See separate post on GetUp) People were not picked because they were in GetUp. They were picked because they could make a worthwhile contribution. A significant minority of them happen to be members of GetUp. Oh, and by the way, a significant minority of the Summiteers were Catholics; another significant minority were people who went to public schools in NSW. How ludicrous would it be to single out either of the latter two minorities for scrutiny?
“Conservative” politicians and commentators who misrepresent the government’s intentions and the way the Summit would operate, and who attempt to undermine its outcomes, and attack the success of community based activism, do so KNOWINGLY. Every politician in Australia, and every commentator who has bothered to look into GetUp, for example, knows that it is not politically aligned, and that it does respond to people’s concerns as distinct from parties’ concerns. You would therefore have to ask why certain politicians misrepresent GetUp the way they do. And if they really do think GetUp is partial, why not sponsor another organisation that promotes a “conservative” agenda? Here’s my suggestion: if they lie about GetUp people who might otherwise be curious about the way it works might be persuaded not to investigate – not to get involved. It’s people getting critically involved that they don’t want, even if it were with an alternative to GetUp that promoted a partisan agenda of their liking, because involved people are difficult to manage. Look how they treated Pauline Hanson and One Nation after the latter ceased to be useful to them.
The very people who accused “the left” of elitism, shut down participation of diverse opinion even within their own party. Is it any wonder they are terrified of the Summit and what it will trigger in this country? Is it any wonder they speak such embarrassing drivel? For to speak truthfully would be politically self incriminating.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Let a thousand ideas bloom.
“We’ve opened the windows of our democracy to let in a bit of fresh air!”
Thus spake Kevin as he opened the 2020 Summit.
And verily did I fall about in wonder and amazement, for they are famous words!!
You probably have to be a Catholic, old enough (not to mention interested enough) to remember the election of Pope John XXIII and what happened shortly afterwards, to get this one. Being such, I want to share it with you. You see, very shortly after the JXXIII’s election there was a gathering of the big guns of the church at which the question was put to the new Pope: What is the agenda for your papacy? The jolly Pope smiled for a moment, got up, walked to the nearest window and opened it. He then turned to the assembled princes and said: I want to open the windows of the church to let in a bit of fresh air.
It just goes to show… when a Pope can anticipate the actions of an Australian Prime Minister the world must be in Go(o)d Hands. Just kidding of course. But there is metaphoric value in the coincidence – if that’s what it is – that I’d like to draw out a bit.
Let’s start with the suggestion that the Venerable Kevin’s choice of words was not a coincidence. We all know that Kevin is a practicing Christian. We see him on TV going to Anglican churches. But what many may not know is that he grew up as a Catholic. He’s not old enough (born 1957)to personally remember the news reports of the Pope’s breath taking words and action. But his vital years of personal formation (you know the saying attributed to the Jesuits – Give me a child until the age of seven and I will give you the man) coincided with the most exciting transformation in the life of the church since… well, since the first Pentecost. Kevin may not even be aware of the fact that his words echoed JXXIII, but it is not too much to suggest that there may be, for him, a deep unconscious connection between the potential of the 2020 Summit and the most astounding event of the era of his youth.
The Second Vatican Council galvanised people on a mass scale to recreate the face of the earth. There was near universal optimism among Catholics of the time about the future. And it wasn’t just Catholics. Protestants and Orthodox in great numbers watched in amazement and rejoiced as the Catholic church took unprecedented initiatives in ecumenism and engagement with the world. In its own internal life the transformation was almost like the emergence of a new religion, except that it was in fact the recovery in contemporary form of what had always been it’s essential inner life.
It is this manifest model of transformation that may be the root of Kevin’s motivation and vision. Being a root it is deep in the soil and therefore out of sight. But if it’s there we may be able to discern the pattern of a future that takes as its point of departure the 2020 Summit – a future that was already unfolding even before today. You may have noticed that people all over Australia have been at it for months – holding forums and testing means of “thinking outside the square”, and even daring to hope!! Reminding themselves that the past is not the only predictor of the future; dusting off the model of thinking that anticipates and therefore to a significant degree facilitates change; cutting through the definitions of what it means to be Australian, created by vested interests, to a vision of a just society in right relationship not only with itself but with the rest of the world and above all with the planet itself; taking the opportunity to absorb in advance as much of the agenda of the Summit as technology and willingness will enable, so that in the event they act disinterestedly (sic) on behalf of the greater good, the nature of which they can only glimpse partially as if in a glass darkly. If time permitted I could list a dozen more ways in which people of good will have flocked to this event on behalf of a sustainable and exciting future. But it is enough to draw attention to the discernable pattern of events.
If I am right about this we can expect not only good ideas from the Summit, but a vision of the future whose substance will take the whole country by surprise. People everywhere will meet in small groups to examine the implications of the documents that come from the Summit for their daily lives. People will see connections between issues they had never previously imagined and change the way do things. People will look to others they have never considered worthy of attention for clues about how to build relationships they never previously wanted. Sacred cows, such as “the bottom line” and “the inviolable rights of shareholders”, will be put out to pasture – not deprives of their rights, but stripped of undue influence. Courageous and innovative ways of creating sustainable prosperity will emerge in unlikely places and be adapted widely and rapidly. And people will make the connections between those new forms and those of earlier times that brought them forth as aspiring champions of the Fair Go.
People will ignore the few who say it can’t be done – like the politician who said: There are a thousand ideas, there are 660 minutes of discussion on the summit program, which means that for every idea there are 39.6 seconds put aside for discussing that particular idea.
To be continued…
Thus spake Kevin as he opened the 2020 Summit.
And verily did I fall about in wonder and amazement, for they are famous words!!
You probably have to be a Catholic, old enough (not to mention interested enough) to remember the election of Pope John XXIII and what happened shortly afterwards, to get this one. Being such, I want to share it with you. You see, very shortly after the JXXIII’s election there was a gathering of the big guns of the church at which the question was put to the new Pope: What is the agenda for your papacy? The jolly Pope smiled for a moment, got up, walked to the nearest window and opened it. He then turned to the assembled princes and said: I want to open the windows of the church to let in a bit of fresh air.
It just goes to show… when a Pope can anticipate the actions of an Australian Prime Minister the world must be in Go(o)d Hands. Just kidding of course. But there is metaphoric value in the coincidence – if that’s what it is – that I’d like to draw out a bit.
Let’s start with the suggestion that the Venerable Kevin’s choice of words was not a coincidence. We all know that Kevin is a practicing Christian. We see him on TV going to Anglican churches. But what many may not know is that he grew up as a Catholic. He’s not old enough (born 1957)to personally remember the news reports of the Pope’s breath taking words and action. But his vital years of personal formation (you know the saying attributed to the Jesuits – Give me a child until the age of seven and I will give you the man) coincided with the most exciting transformation in the life of the church since… well, since the first Pentecost. Kevin may not even be aware of the fact that his words echoed JXXIII, but it is not too much to suggest that there may be, for him, a deep unconscious connection between the potential of the 2020 Summit and the most astounding event of the era of his youth.
The Second Vatican Council galvanised people on a mass scale to recreate the face of the earth. There was near universal optimism among Catholics of the time about the future. And it wasn’t just Catholics. Protestants and Orthodox in great numbers watched in amazement and rejoiced as the Catholic church took unprecedented initiatives in ecumenism and engagement with the world. In its own internal life the transformation was almost like the emergence of a new religion, except that it was in fact the recovery in contemporary form of what had always been it’s essential inner life.
It is this manifest model of transformation that may be the root of Kevin’s motivation and vision. Being a root it is deep in the soil and therefore out of sight. But if it’s there we may be able to discern the pattern of a future that takes as its point of departure the 2020 Summit – a future that was already unfolding even before today. You may have noticed that people all over Australia have been at it for months – holding forums and testing means of “thinking outside the square”, and even daring to hope!! Reminding themselves that the past is not the only predictor of the future; dusting off the model of thinking that anticipates and therefore to a significant degree facilitates change; cutting through the definitions of what it means to be Australian, created by vested interests, to a vision of a just society in right relationship not only with itself but with the rest of the world and above all with the planet itself; taking the opportunity to absorb in advance as much of the agenda of the Summit as technology and willingness will enable, so that in the event they act disinterestedly (sic) on behalf of the greater good, the nature of which they can only glimpse partially as if in a glass darkly. If time permitted I could list a dozen more ways in which people of good will have flocked to this event on behalf of a sustainable and exciting future. But it is enough to draw attention to the discernable pattern of events.
If I am right about this we can expect not only good ideas from the Summit, but a vision of the future whose substance will take the whole country by surprise. People everywhere will meet in small groups to examine the implications of the documents that come from the Summit for their daily lives. People will see connections between issues they had never previously imagined and change the way do things. People will look to others they have never considered worthy of attention for clues about how to build relationships they never previously wanted. Sacred cows, such as “the bottom line” and “the inviolable rights of shareholders”, will be put out to pasture – not deprives of their rights, but stripped of undue influence. Courageous and innovative ways of creating sustainable prosperity will emerge in unlikely places and be adapted widely and rapidly. And people will make the connections between those new forms and those of earlier times that brought them forth as aspiring champions of the Fair Go.
People will ignore the few who say it can’t be done – like the politician who said: There are a thousand ideas, there are 660 minutes of discussion on the summit program, which means that for every idea there are 39.6 seconds put aside for discussing that particular idea.
To be continued…
I may not be my brother's keeper, but...
Please bear with me for the next few lines, especially if your political views differ from mine – god knows, I’ve made them clear – or even if you share my views but think I over do it a bit – or a lot. Just stay with me for a moment – please.
I’ve had no one take me up on the offer to dialogue about the apology. It’s possible that I have somehow contrived to be friends only with like minded people. I hope not. In fact I know that’s not true. It’s more likely that someone who thinks the apology wasn’t necessary also thinks that it’s none of my business what they think. And they’d be right. I’ll come back to that. I want to look first at another possibility: that someone, having understood the offer, rejected it because they don’t want to consider arguments for the apology. You know: I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind.
By now anyone who holds that position has stopped reading, so let me tell you, who may be curious to know what I have to say about it, what I think is wrong with that position. It’s easily illustrated. Just put the boot on the other foot, so to speak. Put those words in the mouth of a person in power. Shocking, eh? Does it sound like anyone you know? No. Because no one in power in a democracy could ever use those actual words. But actions speak. Can you think of anyone whose actions consistently signalled a refusal to “talk to the other side” – who talked at the other side instead? If you’re a coalition voter you’ve probably thinking Paul Keating. If you’re not you almost certainly have of someone else in mind. What if both points of view are right – or wrong? What if it’s not “either or” but “both and”?
Recall the 1996 election campaign and its aftermath. Pauline Hanson was speaking her mind. What she said embarrassed the Liberal party and they disendorsed her. Speaking about that period long after the event John Howard claimed that, in the years leading up to that election, people with views contrary to those of the “ruling elite” had been silenced. By the time he said this, he had systematically denigrated the world view of those he’d beaten at the ballot box and implemented policies that not only embodied his own world view, but flew in the face of scientific consensus in some cases. Along the way, people within his own party who had values that differed form his, either departed from politics or were, except on rare occasions, silent – possibly even silenced. What may or may not have been true in 1996 became increasingly so from then until 2007. Does it have to be like this? And how long can we survive as a country if we don’t start talking to one another? If we maintain a winner takes all mentality?
I remember vividly what it was like just before the 1996 election. If people who didn’t like “politically correct” views felt silenced, was it because they chose not to participate in the issues of the day? You know, I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind… And remember what it was like when the Howard government got control of both houses? I don’t care what you think. I’m going to do it my way. Coalition voters will argue that the country was in such a mess when the Howard government took over they had to repudiate the views of those they had replaced in order to put their own agenda into place. Others will say that when the Rudd government took over the country was an international pariah as a result of that agenda. If you’re a Labor supporter you might hope that things can be fixed up, but you need to be worried, because if you think what happened under the last government was bad, it’s nothing compared with what could happen next time the “conservatives” get power. If you’re a coalition voter you might be thinking the worst case scenario is already unfolding.
Both sides can stop the worst form happening. Here’s how. I care what you think and I want to talk with you about it. Now, about what other people think being none of my business….
I’ve had no one take me up on the offer to dialogue about the apology. It’s possible that I have somehow contrived to be friends only with like minded people. I hope not. In fact I know that’s not true. It’s more likely that someone who thinks the apology wasn’t necessary also thinks that it’s none of my business what they think. And they’d be right. I’ll come back to that. I want to look first at another possibility: that someone, having understood the offer, rejected it because they don’t want to consider arguments for the apology. You know: I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind.
By now anyone who holds that position has stopped reading, so let me tell you, who may be curious to know what I have to say about it, what I think is wrong with that position. It’s easily illustrated. Just put the boot on the other foot, so to speak. Put those words in the mouth of a person in power. Shocking, eh? Does it sound like anyone you know? No. Because no one in power in a democracy could ever use those actual words. But actions speak. Can you think of anyone whose actions consistently signalled a refusal to “talk to the other side” – who talked at the other side instead? If you’re a coalition voter you’ve probably thinking Paul Keating. If you’re not you almost certainly have of someone else in mind. What if both points of view are right – or wrong? What if it’s not “either or” but “both and”?
Recall the 1996 election campaign and its aftermath. Pauline Hanson was speaking her mind. What she said embarrassed the Liberal party and they disendorsed her. Speaking about that period long after the event John Howard claimed that, in the years leading up to that election, people with views contrary to those of the “ruling elite” had been silenced. By the time he said this, he had systematically denigrated the world view of those he’d beaten at the ballot box and implemented policies that not only embodied his own world view, but flew in the face of scientific consensus in some cases. Along the way, people within his own party who had values that differed form his, either departed from politics or were, except on rare occasions, silent – possibly even silenced. What may or may not have been true in 1996 became increasingly so from then until 2007. Does it have to be like this? And how long can we survive as a country if we don’t start talking to one another? If we maintain a winner takes all mentality?
I remember vividly what it was like just before the 1996 election. If people who didn’t like “politically correct” views felt silenced, was it because they chose not to participate in the issues of the day? You know, I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind… And remember what it was like when the Howard government got control of both houses? I don’t care what you think. I’m going to do it my way. Coalition voters will argue that the country was in such a mess when the Howard government took over they had to repudiate the views of those they had replaced in order to put their own agenda into place. Others will say that when the Rudd government took over the country was an international pariah as a result of that agenda. If you’re a Labor supporter you might hope that things can be fixed up, but you need to be worried, because if you think what happened under the last government was bad, it’s nothing compared with what could happen next time the “conservatives” get power. If you’re a coalition voter you might be thinking the worst case scenario is already unfolding.
Both sides can stop the worst form happening. Here’s how. I care what you think and I want to talk with you about it. Now, about what other people think being none of my business….
Sunday, 13 April 2008
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Bobby Flynn – the live show – with Omega 3
Have you heard of Bobby Flynn? If you watch Australian Idol, of course you have. Otherwise maybe not. We went to see him in concert on Friday 4/4/08 in the A&I Hall in Bangalow.
I was expecting not to be able to find a park. After all, millions voted for him on Idol, and surely they’d all be here tonight, I thought. But as soon as we turned into the main street – that is arrived in the main street: we didn’t actually metamorphose into bitumen edged with foot paths – there was a park right in front of the Bangalow pub. I suggested that I must have visualised it. If you know about “The Secret” you’ll know what I mean. If you don’t you’re lucky. Anyway, we walked… no, we sauntered… down the street, pausing to look at objects d’art in the windows. Bangalow’s that sort of place, if you haven’t been there – or even if you have been there. John saw a very nice hat and remarked that it would be good dipped, and thought the same about a number of tea cosies in another shop. Dipped? I hear you ask. In porcelain and fired. (see the photos of his work on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/sets/72157602126431721/) Meanwhile, despite being able to park so easily I was envisaging a throng of people around the next corner waiting to get in to the hall. There were lots of cars, but no people. I panicked. Did I get the time wrong? Has it already started? Having been a theatre manager, I wondered if we’d be locked out until there was a break in the performance. But no, when we arrived at the hall there were a few people gaggling at the door, which wasn’t yet opened, and I wondered if I’d got the date wrong. I sneaked a peek through a crack in the door and saw that there were chairs in about half of the hall. Well, something’s on, I reassured myself, but it’s not going to be as big a show as I had anticipated.
As 7:30 approached the street began to fill with people all streaming towards the hall. Mmmmmmmm, I thought. The elves and fairies know when to appear, because at about that moment the doors were flung open and we all queued to get in; and waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually we were let in, stamped with the mark of the beast – I can’t imagine why it was necessary to do that when we had tickets but there you go, that’s rock and roll - and found seats; and waited, and waited, and waited. Well, it was fun looking at the elves and fairies. Finally the lights dimmed and a troll in fairy’s clothing appeared on stage – on tip toes arching up to the mike and said, It looks like every time there’s an event around here I’m up on my tip toes because the person coming after me is always taller. Well you should have heard the audience. There was a deafening silence as everyone stayed in their seats and remained calm. She continued in a perfect monotone for what seemed like some minutes regaling the audience with coming attractions and email lists and … and suddenly I realised that this was not part of the performance but an advertisement. So I stopped paying attention, because I never allow myself to be influenced by ads. Later I did ask if anyone wanted to go the hear the Spooky Men’s Choir which she had mentioned. Anyway, suddenly she wasn’t there.
A bloke who obviously hadn’t combed his hair since he was a little boy, snuck through the curtain carrying a guitar. It was him carrying the guitar, by the way – not the curtain. His name, we’d already been told was Sean Murphy. He was to be the fire starter. You know, warm up the crowd. Get them going. That sort of thing. He sang a very nice song about God, said it wasn’t a religious song and said he wasn’t a Catholic. Yes, well you may ask. It might have been this that triggered the memory of a scene from Katy and Kym in which they were discussing names for the soon to be new baby. Kym mentions a name that Kath approves of and Kath begins to write it down, spelling it out as she goes, and Kym interrupts a gives another, obviously over the top, contrivance as the correct spelling. Anyway, there were about six or eight numbers in his bracket. It all sounded like the same song to me, but. Eh? Different words. Even different notes. But it still sounded like the same song six or eight times. The problem isn't a lack of diversity in his musical composition. I think it was the sentiments expressed. All of his songs were about emotional dependency. ...give your live to me...what if all I wanted to see was God...don't hold me inside...our love will always remain the same...show me the ways to love... But to be fair I have to say, he had a very nice voice and did a fine falsetto – which is a hell of a lot more than I can do. And yes. The crowd did warm to him. So he did a good job. Oh, and when I bought his disc at the end of the show I found that he wasn't Sean but Cheynne. Well, Cheynne was followed by Dan.
Dan told us he was Dan quite a few times in the first little bit. I think he was nervous and couldn’t think of anything else to say. But he settled down and started to play his guitar and sing and all of a sudden he had my attention! This guy could PLAY. Not to mention sing. And WRITE. He was all of twenty and had been a professional muso for three and a half years – and sounded like it. And his sentiments are about engagement...for the first time in my life I don't feel the same...a one night stand was hardly worth the drive...you leave me no choice but to disagree with all you do... 'cause the reflection that I see, never smiles back at me (that same reflection once smiled from ear to ear...can I please explain the way I feel...ya can't catch hearts with every line you cast...why can't they see that there's no need to be so greedy with me...have you ever seen people living day to day, never thinking twice before they throw their love away...he likes to sail, but man does he hate the ocean...street fighting man I don't wish to be around him...I get the feeling he don't wanna like me... To my ear, his words have a poignancy you expect from a mature song writer like Paul Kelly. The eight or ten songs he sang were very distinct. In a more discerning world, Dan would not be a support act.
Intermission came next. Or was it half time? Intermission, I think. The crowd was far too well mannered for it to be half time. Speaking of which, if you’re thinking that our party of four must have stood out like geriatric thumbs, you’d be dead wrong. I was certainly expecting a young crowd, but it was more like what you’d expect at a Musica Viva bash. You know, young faces to be seen for sure, but as many from 40 up as 30 down. I mention this because it says something about Bobby Flynn.
Yes, he was on Australian Idol. But so was Paul Potts. Paul who? Paul Potts was in British Idol – and won. Soooooooooo? Well, he is an opera singer. Here’s the link to his website, http://www.paulpottsuk.com/frontpage and if anyone’s interested, he’s appearing at the Adelaide Festival this year, will be in concert in Brisbane on 20/4/08, the SOH on 21/4/08 and in Melbourne on 23/4/08. Anyway the crowd – or should that be patrons – drank a lot of Chai during interval – which answers my question about how they should be described: clearly they were patrons – they’d have been a crowd if they’d drunk a lot of beer – and had photos taken with the stars. 50+ was not too shy to take a turn in the frame with Bobby.
Like Paul Potts in Britain, Bobby Flynn brought to AI a quality that set him apart. It would either break the mould or ruin his chances of getting to the Opera House. You don't hear a Bobby Flynn song on the radio and whistle it from memory five minutes later - and not just because you don't hear them on the radio at all. He doesn’t sing “tunes” – you know, She loves me yeah yeah yeah; or Sadie the cleaning lady. He expresses complex sentiments in music that nails the emotion. If I had to compare his music with someone well known, I might mention Sting – but he’s actually nothing like Sting, so you’re none the wiser, especially if you don’t know who Sting is. Another group with whom he might be mentioned in the same breath is The Guillemots. But once again, the similarity is tenuous. The range of his voice, its power and the gut wrenching yearning for life that his choice of notes wrings out of the cosmos is as “operatic” as anything I have ever heard – which, I admit, is not really saying all that much, because I’ve only recently started paying attention to opera. But whereas Teddy Tahu Rhodes induces in me a sense of the sublime, Bobby Flynn brought me to tears. I can’t remember feeling so exhilaratingly sad – except, when, at about fifteen, my first girlfriend dumped me. And isn't that what opera's supposed to do?
Having said that, it was not all down to Bobby himself. Omega 3, who shared the stage with him, were breath taking. Two of them in particular delivered riveting performances. The percussionist produced a truly astonishing range of sounds from so many different gadgets that gave up trying to keep track of what he was doing. He was deservedly given a moment of glory towards the end of the show. The stand out performance of Omega 3, however, was the lead guitarist. Even though he was up front with the star, he was, for most of the time, a model of restraint, yet in those moments when his guitar stepped into the lead, the sound he produced and his body language easily matched the zeal of Bobby Flynn’s performance.
The most astounding moment of the show came right at the end when everyone else had left the stage while lead guitarist lead singer engaged each others guitars in a contemplative post script that had the flavour and fragrance of one’s first ever post coital cigarette. If there was a dry in the house it belonged to someone made of stone.
Keyboard, drums, bass guitar and someone pushing buttons in the wings – as well as up the back – all contributed indispensable layers to performance that is probably impossible to capture on disc or video. The discs I bought after the show are a worthy souvenir of the experience, but they are not the experience – not by a long shot. So if you’re interested and you have to opportunity to go to one of these shows, don’t be thinking the discs and a good set of head phones will do.
One final point to make is about the understated stage wear of everyone involved. Far from being a criticism, I am really impressed at how a show that could easily get away with a touch of Demis Roussos is content to look like its wardrobe was supplied by St Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army. The show was about music. That’s what anyone who attended will remember, because it seriously exceeded expectation. Next time Bobby Flynn is in town, guess who’ll be there to hear him.
I was expecting not to be able to find a park. After all, millions voted for him on Idol, and surely they’d all be here tonight, I thought. But as soon as we turned into the main street – that is arrived in the main street: we didn’t actually metamorphose into bitumen edged with foot paths – there was a park right in front of the Bangalow pub. I suggested that I must have visualised it. If you know about “The Secret” you’ll know what I mean. If you don’t you’re lucky. Anyway, we walked… no, we sauntered… down the street, pausing to look at objects d’art in the windows. Bangalow’s that sort of place, if you haven’t been there – or even if you have been there. John saw a very nice hat and remarked that it would be good dipped, and thought the same about a number of tea cosies in another shop. Dipped? I hear you ask. In porcelain and fired. (see the photos of his work on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/sets/72157602126431721/) Meanwhile, despite being able to park so easily I was envisaging a throng of people around the next corner waiting to get in to the hall. There were lots of cars, but no people. I panicked. Did I get the time wrong? Has it already started? Having been a theatre manager, I wondered if we’d be locked out until there was a break in the performance. But no, when we arrived at the hall there were a few people gaggling at the door, which wasn’t yet opened, and I wondered if I’d got the date wrong. I sneaked a peek through a crack in the door and saw that there were chairs in about half of the hall. Well, something’s on, I reassured myself, but it’s not going to be as big a show as I had anticipated.
As 7:30 approached the street began to fill with people all streaming towards the hall. Mmmmmmmm, I thought. The elves and fairies know when to appear, because at about that moment the doors were flung open and we all queued to get in; and waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually we were let in, stamped with the mark of the beast – I can’t imagine why it was necessary to do that when we had tickets but there you go, that’s rock and roll - and found seats; and waited, and waited, and waited. Well, it was fun looking at the elves and fairies. Finally the lights dimmed and a troll in fairy’s clothing appeared on stage – on tip toes arching up to the mike and said, It looks like every time there’s an event around here I’m up on my tip toes because the person coming after me is always taller. Well you should have heard the audience. There was a deafening silence as everyone stayed in their seats and remained calm. She continued in a perfect monotone for what seemed like some minutes regaling the audience with coming attractions and email lists and … and suddenly I realised that this was not part of the performance but an advertisement. So I stopped paying attention, because I never allow myself to be influenced by ads. Later I did ask if anyone wanted to go the hear the Spooky Men’s Choir which she had mentioned. Anyway, suddenly she wasn’t there.
A bloke who obviously hadn’t combed his hair since he was a little boy, snuck through the curtain carrying a guitar. It was him carrying the guitar, by the way – not the curtain. His name, we’d already been told was Sean Murphy. He was to be the fire starter. You know, warm up the crowd. Get them going. That sort of thing. He sang a very nice song about God, said it wasn’t a religious song and said he wasn’t a Catholic. Yes, well you may ask. It might have been this that triggered the memory of a scene from Katy and Kym in which they were discussing names for the soon to be new baby. Kym mentions a name that Kath approves of and Kath begins to write it down, spelling it out as she goes, and Kym interrupts a gives another, obviously over the top, contrivance as the correct spelling. Anyway, there were about six or eight numbers in his bracket. It all sounded like the same song to me, but. Eh? Different words. Even different notes. But it still sounded like the same song six or eight times. The problem isn't a lack of diversity in his musical composition. I think it was the sentiments expressed. All of his songs were about emotional dependency. ...give your live to me...what if all I wanted to see was God...don't hold me inside...our love will always remain the same...show me the ways to love... But to be fair I have to say, he had a very nice voice and did a fine falsetto – which is a hell of a lot more than I can do. And yes. The crowd did warm to him. So he did a good job. Oh, and when I bought his disc at the end of the show I found that he wasn't Sean but Cheynne. Well, Cheynne was followed by Dan.
Dan told us he was Dan quite a few times in the first little bit. I think he was nervous and couldn’t think of anything else to say. But he settled down and started to play his guitar and sing and all of a sudden he had my attention! This guy could PLAY. Not to mention sing. And WRITE. He was all of twenty and had been a professional muso for three and a half years – and sounded like it. And his sentiments are about engagement...for the first time in my life I don't feel the same...a one night stand was hardly worth the drive...you leave me no choice but to disagree with all you do... 'cause the reflection that I see, never smiles back at me (that same reflection once smiled from ear to ear...can I please explain the way I feel...ya can't catch hearts with every line you cast...why can't they see that there's no need to be so greedy with me...have you ever seen people living day to day, never thinking twice before they throw their love away...he likes to sail, but man does he hate the ocean...street fighting man I don't wish to be around him...I get the feeling he don't wanna like me... To my ear, his words have a poignancy you expect from a mature song writer like Paul Kelly. The eight or ten songs he sang were very distinct. In a more discerning world, Dan would not be a support act.
Intermission came next. Or was it half time? Intermission, I think. The crowd was far too well mannered for it to be half time. Speaking of which, if you’re thinking that our party of four must have stood out like geriatric thumbs, you’d be dead wrong. I was certainly expecting a young crowd, but it was more like what you’d expect at a Musica Viva bash. You know, young faces to be seen for sure, but as many from 40 up as 30 down. I mention this because it says something about Bobby Flynn.
Yes, he was on Australian Idol. But so was Paul Potts. Paul who? Paul Potts was in British Idol – and won. Soooooooooo? Well, he is an opera singer. Here’s the link to his website, http://www.paulpottsuk.com/frontpage and if anyone’s interested, he’s appearing at the Adelaide Festival this year, will be in concert in Brisbane on 20/4/08, the SOH on 21/4/08 and in Melbourne on 23/4/08. Anyway the crowd – or should that be patrons – drank a lot of Chai during interval – which answers my question about how they should be described: clearly they were patrons – they’d have been a crowd if they’d drunk a lot of beer – and had photos taken with the stars. 50+ was not too shy to take a turn in the frame with Bobby.
Like Paul Potts in Britain, Bobby Flynn brought to AI a quality that set him apart. It would either break the mould or ruin his chances of getting to the Opera House. You don't hear a Bobby Flynn song on the radio and whistle it from memory five minutes later - and not just because you don't hear them on the radio at all. He doesn’t sing “tunes” – you know, She loves me yeah yeah yeah; or Sadie the cleaning lady. He expresses complex sentiments in music that nails the emotion. If I had to compare his music with someone well known, I might mention Sting – but he’s actually nothing like Sting, so you’re none the wiser, especially if you don’t know who Sting is. Another group with whom he might be mentioned in the same breath is The Guillemots. But once again, the similarity is tenuous. The range of his voice, its power and the gut wrenching yearning for life that his choice of notes wrings out of the cosmos is as “operatic” as anything I have ever heard – which, I admit, is not really saying all that much, because I’ve only recently started paying attention to opera. But whereas Teddy Tahu Rhodes induces in me a sense of the sublime, Bobby Flynn brought me to tears. I can’t remember feeling so exhilaratingly sad – except, when, at about fifteen, my first girlfriend dumped me. And isn't that what opera's supposed to do?
Having said that, it was not all down to Bobby himself. Omega 3, who shared the stage with him, were breath taking. Two of them in particular delivered riveting performances. The percussionist produced a truly astonishing range of sounds from so many different gadgets that gave up trying to keep track of what he was doing. He was deservedly given a moment of glory towards the end of the show. The stand out performance of Omega 3, however, was the lead guitarist. Even though he was up front with the star, he was, for most of the time, a model of restraint, yet in those moments when his guitar stepped into the lead, the sound he produced and his body language easily matched the zeal of Bobby Flynn’s performance.
The most astounding moment of the show came right at the end when everyone else had left the stage while lead guitarist lead singer engaged each others guitars in a contemplative post script that had the flavour and fragrance of one’s first ever post coital cigarette. If there was a dry in the house it belonged to someone made of stone.
Keyboard, drums, bass guitar and someone pushing buttons in the wings – as well as up the back – all contributed indispensable layers to performance that is probably impossible to capture on disc or video. The discs I bought after the show are a worthy souvenir of the experience, but they are not the experience – not by a long shot. So if you’re interested and you have to opportunity to go to one of these shows, don’t be thinking the discs and a good set of head phones will do.
One final point to make is about the understated stage wear of everyone involved. Far from being a criticism, I am really impressed at how a show that could easily get away with a touch of Demis Roussos is content to look like its wardrobe was supplied by St Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army. The show was about music. That’s what anyone who attended will remember, because it seriously exceeded expectation. Next time Bobby Flynn is in town, guess who’ll be there to hear him.
What do you say...
Visit to G&I 6-7/4/08
Change is imminent. As a result I have taken the opportunity to catch up with a number of people, because it may be some time before I have as much freedom to choose as I have had for the past year. Particularly urgent was a visit to Rockhampton to catch up with a couple of friends, one of whom has a limited time to live. Well don’t we all, you might say. Yes, but this bloke knows that the end is not just some time in the future, but just a few … well, moments, really… away.
Even though I was present for the several months of each of my parents dying, I have never before gone to visit someone, looking the same healthy active person as ever, knowing that I would never see them again. I had seen community service announcements on TV about finding out what you can do/say when you know someone with a terminal illness. I looked up the website. It didn’t help. So I got on a plane and flew north hoping that a certain promise made by one of the great mythologers of ancient times would be fulfilled. I can’t give chapter and verse, or even an approximate quote, but the sense of it is: Don’t be concerned with what to say. The words will be given to you. It didn’t work – for me, anyway - well, if it did it wasn’t until the very last moment of my visit.
Part of the reason I found it difficult to address the issue of a friend’s imminent death may be that Graham and Inge are living each day, focused on that day, attending to the day to day, speaking when necessary of the time ahead – after Graham has died and Inge is getting on with her life. In other words, they are focused on being alive – doing what the living do. Furthermore, Graham has been keeping a journal of their activities since being diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. Selling their country property and their town houses and moving into town close to where Inge works; going to doctors, being given a range of options and calmly choosing the one that makes most sense – to him, to them; winding up his relationships with all and sundry and being very frank about why; paying attention to detail as one would in any enterprise of significance. And what could be more significant than this!
Graham met me at the airport, complaining about how busy it was and how hard it was to find a park. Mmmmmm, I thought. That’s a good sign: business as usual. And so it was. We talked about the trees they’d planted since moving in; the upgrading to the house; the plants that had come from their last half dozen places of abode, strategically placed to fulfil their purpose in their new location; the way Inge’s work place operates and its tentacles into all of the eastern capital cities and its overseas clients; and so on – oh, and the party they’d had the day before for Graham’s 65th birthday. The closest I got to saying anything about his limited remaining time was: Oh, it was your birthday? Well, I wish you many happy returns of the day – and this time I mean it as never before. To which Graham replied with a smile, Ah yes, it’s probably my last. During our conversation I managed to have two glasses of wine which clobbered me like nothing I could have imagined. I took an afternoon nap and resumed conversation with them well into the night, after we’d all slept for six or eight hours. In the morning I said hurray to Inge and was driven to the airport by Graham.
We parted as we always had. You know, with words like You look after yourself and give our love to John. and Yes, I’ll do that, and you take care, and don’t worry about parking tickets. You won’t be around to pay them when they’re due. There! I did it!! At that moment I realised that the right words for the duration of my visit were words that fitted in with the priorities of my hosts. They weren’t dwelling on what I considered – still consider – to be an imminent catastrophe. But if one was going to make any reference to it, maybe humour was the appropriate attitude to have. It might have been risky, but it worked. Graham laughed out loud and waved me off. That’s the last image I will ever have of him – how I will remember him.
And what of Inge, AG? Her life will change, as would anyone’s. But she is a resourceful and imaginative. She will grieve and grow. And we will have a new role as friends of Inge, as distinct from, as it is at present, friends of Graham and Inge. But we will always remember….
Change is imminent. As a result I have taken the opportunity to catch up with a number of people, because it may be some time before I have as much freedom to choose as I have had for the past year. Particularly urgent was a visit to Rockhampton to catch up with a couple of friends, one of whom has a limited time to live. Well don’t we all, you might say. Yes, but this bloke knows that the end is not just some time in the future, but just a few … well, moments, really… away.
Even though I was present for the several months of each of my parents dying, I have never before gone to visit someone, looking the same healthy active person as ever, knowing that I would never see them again. I had seen community service announcements on TV about finding out what you can do/say when you know someone with a terminal illness. I looked up the website. It didn’t help. So I got on a plane and flew north hoping that a certain promise made by one of the great mythologers of ancient times would be fulfilled. I can’t give chapter and verse, or even an approximate quote, but the sense of it is: Don’t be concerned with what to say. The words will be given to you. It didn’t work – for me, anyway - well, if it did it wasn’t until the very last moment of my visit.
Part of the reason I found it difficult to address the issue of a friend’s imminent death may be that Graham and Inge are living each day, focused on that day, attending to the day to day, speaking when necessary of the time ahead – after Graham has died and Inge is getting on with her life. In other words, they are focused on being alive – doing what the living do. Furthermore, Graham has been keeping a journal of their activities since being diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. Selling their country property and their town houses and moving into town close to where Inge works; going to doctors, being given a range of options and calmly choosing the one that makes most sense – to him, to them; winding up his relationships with all and sundry and being very frank about why; paying attention to detail as one would in any enterprise of significance. And what could be more significant than this!
Graham met me at the airport, complaining about how busy it was and how hard it was to find a park. Mmmmmm, I thought. That’s a good sign: business as usual. And so it was. We talked about the trees they’d planted since moving in; the upgrading to the house; the plants that had come from their last half dozen places of abode, strategically placed to fulfil their purpose in their new location; the way Inge’s work place operates and its tentacles into all of the eastern capital cities and its overseas clients; and so on – oh, and the party they’d had the day before for Graham’s 65th birthday. The closest I got to saying anything about his limited remaining time was: Oh, it was your birthday? Well, I wish you many happy returns of the day – and this time I mean it as never before. To which Graham replied with a smile, Ah yes, it’s probably my last. During our conversation I managed to have two glasses of wine which clobbered me like nothing I could have imagined. I took an afternoon nap and resumed conversation with them well into the night, after we’d all slept for six or eight hours. In the morning I said hurray to Inge and was driven to the airport by Graham.
We parted as we always had. You know, with words like You look after yourself and give our love to John. and Yes, I’ll do that, and you take care, and don’t worry about parking tickets. You won’t be around to pay them when they’re due. There! I did it!! At that moment I realised that the right words for the duration of my visit were words that fitted in with the priorities of my hosts. They weren’t dwelling on what I considered – still consider – to be an imminent catastrophe. But if one was going to make any reference to it, maybe humour was the appropriate attitude to have. It might have been risky, but it worked. Graham laughed out loud and waved me off. That’s the last image I will ever have of him – how I will remember him.
And what of Inge, AG? Her life will change, as would anyone’s. But she is a resourceful and imaginative. She will grieve and grow. And we will have a new role as friends of Inge, as distinct from, as it is at present, friends of Graham and Inge. But we will always remember….
Sunday, 23 March 2008
March Bulletin
Gee, hello there.
I was going to begin this Bull tin by remarking that the year is marching on, but that would be just too corny, so instead of starting by saying that the year’s marching on, I’m starting by saying that I’m not starting by saying that the year’s marching on.
Oh! Are you still with me?
Were you appalled by the latest from East Timor? I am ashamed to admit that for just a moment I thought they should go back to being part of Indonesia because they seem to be more interested in guns than politics – but, of course, I slapped myself on the wrist and told myself to get real. You may be interested in an article on the political parties in East Timor in 2001 – fifteen of them in all: hardly evidence of indifference to the political process. Here’s the link:
http://www.yale.edu/gsp/east_timor/ppp1.doc
˜
While we’re on matters of great moment, you may recall that I emailed a link to GetUp last month re The Apology, and drew attention to a document answering frequently asked questions. Since then I have become aware that some people were unable to download the document. It is included here as the next post. I am aware of the huge percentage of Australians who think the apology should not have been made. The percentage is so high that I have to assume that a significant number of people receiving this email from me are of that opinion. I would ask anyone so disposed to read the the next post, and, after that, if you still think the apology should not have been made, email me with your reasoning on the matter. I undertake to enter into a respectful dialogue with you. Let me explain my motive here. I do not presume to have the answers. This is me taking personal responsibility for my opinion on the matter. You see, if you really do not believe the apology should have been made, you almost certainly know something I don’t know. That’s why I want to hear from you about it. I just want to be as fully informed as possible. You will be doing me a favour.
There is a limitation on this offer. It applies only to people who received this bulletin directly from me by email, i.e. I will not respond to anyone to whom it has been forwarded. The point being that I have a personal relationship with the fifty people in my monthly email group. I can expect that anyone taking up my offer will do so in good faith. I cannot know that other people will.
–
The pictures of Wooli are now up on Flickr. There’s too many of them, but I just couldn’t help myself. Don’t try to work your way through all of them. Just click on the group icon at the right hand side of the screen and scan the thumbnails for shots you might want to take a closer look at. There’s also pictures of soft toys I have made. Too few of them, but there will be more in due course. Here’s the link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/
˜
We’ve watched a film recently called Mountain Patrol by Lu Chuan, about an attempt to save Tibetan Antelope from poachers. If the subject sounds a bit, you know, Byron Bay, it’s actually not about how we can save the world by eating organic food and having colonic irrigation. The story about volunteers opposing poachers is really only the vehicle for a harrowing meditation on what it means to be human. Five stars from me. It’s available from Video Ezy.
–
I did a lightning trip to Sydney on 9-10/2 to collect John’s work from the Graduate Exhibition mentioned in my last Bull tin. It was the most wonder full trip. Yes, trip! If you’d like to read about it, see my blog (link below). While I was driving I listened to, among other things a recording of James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake. OMG!!! What a triple tripping triumph. Have a read of my thoughts about it, if you like. It follows my account of the trip to Sydney. Warning – the writing about the Wake is even more weird than normal. Purposely.
http://twogreytoes.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html
˜
Now here’s something you might really be interested in – talk about keeping the good wine till last. The link below will take you to a Nicholson animated cartoon called Sorry Lot. When the cartoon ends there will be a dialogue box which enables you – if you want to – to receive notification of new cartoons. They’re free and usually too good not to know about.
http://media.theaustralian.news.com.au/nich/20080222_sorry_lot.htm
–
Go jollily.
I was going to begin this Bull tin by remarking that the year is marching on, but that would be just too corny, so instead of starting by saying that the year’s marching on, I’m starting by saying that I’m not starting by saying that the year’s marching on.
Oh! Are you still with me?
Were you appalled by the latest from East Timor? I am ashamed to admit that for just a moment I thought they should go back to being part of Indonesia because they seem to be more interested in guns than politics – but, of course, I slapped myself on the wrist and told myself to get real. You may be interested in an article on the political parties in East Timor in 2001 – fifteen of them in all: hardly evidence of indifference to the political process. Here’s the link:
http://www.yale.edu/gsp/east_timor/ppp1.doc
˜
While we’re on matters of great moment, you may recall that I emailed a link to GetUp last month re The Apology, and drew attention to a document answering frequently asked questions. Since then I have become aware that some people were unable to download the document. It is included here as the next post. I am aware of the huge percentage of Australians who think the apology should not have been made. The percentage is so high that I have to assume that a significant number of people receiving this email from me are of that opinion. I would ask anyone so disposed to read the the next post, and, after that, if you still think the apology should not have been made, email me with your reasoning on the matter. I undertake to enter into a respectful dialogue with you. Let me explain my motive here. I do not presume to have the answers. This is me taking personal responsibility for my opinion on the matter. You see, if you really do not believe the apology should have been made, you almost certainly know something I don’t know. That’s why I want to hear from you about it. I just want to be as fully informed as possible. You will be doing me a favour.
There is a limitation on this offer. It applies only to people who received this bulletin directly from me by email, i.e. I will not respond to anyone to whom it has been forwarded. The point being that I have a personal relationship with the fifty people in my monthly email group. I can expect that anyone taking up my offer will do so in good faith. I cannot know that other people will.
–
The pictures of Wooli are now up on Flickr. There’s too many of them, but I just couldn’t help myself. Don’t try to work your way through all of them. Just click on the group icon at the right hand side of the screen and scan the thumbnails for shots you might want to take a closer look at. There’s also pictures of soft toys I have made. Too few of them, but there will be more in due course. Here’s the link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/
˜
We’ve watched a film recently called Mountain Patrol by Lu Chuan, about an attempt to save Tibetan Antelope from poachers. If the subject sounds a bit, you know, Byron Bay, it’s actually not about how we can save the world by eating organic food and having colonic irrigation. The story about volunteers opposing poachers is really only the vehicle for a harrowing meditation on what it means to be human. Five stars from me. It’s available from Video Ezy.
–
I did a lightning trip to Sydney on 9-10/2 to collect John’s work from the Graduate Exhibition mentioned in my last Bull tin. It was the most wonder full trip. Yes, trip! If you’d like to read about it, see my blog (link below). While I was driving I listened to, among other things a recording of James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake. OMG!!! What a triple tripping triumph. Have a read of my thoughts about it, if you like. It follows my account of the trip to Sydney. Warning – the writing about the Wake is even more weird than normal. Purposely.
http://twogreytoes.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html
˜
Now here’s something you might really be interested in – talk about keeping the good wine till last. The link below will take you to a Nicholson animated cartoon called Sorry Lot. When the cartoon ends there will be a dialogue box which enables you – if you want to – to receive notification of new cartoons. They’re free and usually too good not to know about.
http://media.theaustralian.news.com.au/nich/20080222_sorry_lot.htm
–
Go jollily.
Apology to stolen generations – questions and answers
This material has been taken from the GetUp Website
This material has been prepared by Reconciliation Australia to help Australians understand the background to the apology that will be made to the stolen generations by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd.
1. Who are the stolen generations?
2. How do we know these people’s stories are true?
3. Why is it important to apologise to the stolen generations?
4. Why should Australians today apologise for something we aren’t responsible for?
5. What does an apology mean to me as a non-Indigenous Australian?
6. Why should we apologise when many Aboriginal people are actually better off because they were removed from dysfunctional families?
7. Will an apology lead to claims for compensation from members of the stolen generations?
8. Why is the word ‘sorry’ important as part of the apology?
1. Who are the stolen generations?
The term ‘stolen generations’ refers to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians who were forcibly removed from their families and communities by government, welfare or church authorities as children and placed into institutional care or with non-Indigenous foster families. The forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children began as early as the mid 1800s and continued until 1970.
This removal occurred as the result of official laws and policies aimed at assimilating the Indigenous population into the wider community.
The 1997 Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, conducted by the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission found that between 1 in 10 and 3 in 10 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children were forcibly removed from their families and communities in the period from 1910 to 1970.
The Western Australian and Queensland governments have confirmed that in that period all Indigenous families in their States were affected by the forced removal of children. It’s not possible to know precisely how many children were taken because government records of these removals are poor and many government files are inaccurate.
The stolen generation should not be confused with other government policies which aimed to help Aboriginal children from remote areas to go to school with their parents full consent. It should also not be confused with the removal of Indigenous and non-Indigenous children from dysfunctional families under welfare policies that continue to apply today.
2. How do we know these people’s stories are true?
All State and Territory governments have acknowledged past practices and policies of forced removal of Indigenous children on the basis of race. As part of this formal acknowledgement, all State and Territory governments have apologised for the trauma these policies have caused.
The report of the Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, called the Bringing them Home report, contains extensive evidence of past practices and policies which resulted in the removal of children. It also details the conditions into which many
of the children were placed and discussed the negative impact this has had on individuals, their families and the broader Indigenous community.
The Inquiry took evidence from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, government and church representatives, former mission staff, foster and adoptive parents, doctors and health professionals, academics, police and others. It received over 777 submissions, including 535 from Indigenous individuals and organisations, 49 from church organisations and 7 from governments.
3. Why is it important to apologise to the stolen generations?
The Bringing Them Home report found that the forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families and communities has had life-long and profoundly disabling consequences for those taken and has negatively affected the Indigenous community. For many of the children, removal meant that they lost all connection to family, traditional land, culture and language.
It never goes away. Just ‘cause we’re not walking around on crutches or with bandages or plasters on our legs and arms, doesn’t mean we’re not hurting. Just ’cause you can’t see it doesn’t mean … I suspect I’ll carry these sorts of wounds ’til I the day I die. I’d just like it to be not quite as intense, that’s all. Confidential evidence 580, Queensland. Bringing Them Home Report
The reality of Australia’s stolen generations is not a thing of the distant past. Children were being inappropriately removed from their families by Australian authorities until 1969. Many people affected by the tragedy of the stolen generations are still alive today and live with its effects.
The Bringing Them Home report recommended that the first step in healing is the acknowledgment of truth and the delivery of an apology. It is the responsibility of the Australian Government, on behalf of previous Australian governments that administered this wrongful policy to acknowledge what was done and apologise for it.
This issue is a ‘blank spot’ in the history of Australia. The damage and trauma these policies caused are felt everyday by Aboriginal people. They internalise their grief, guilt and confusion, inflicting further pain on themselves and others around them. It is about time the Australian Government openly accepted responsibility for their actions and compensate those affected.
Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter (In Buti A, Bringing them home the ALSA way)
4. Why should Australians today apologise for something we aren’t responsible for?
Individual Australians are not providing the apology. The apology is being provided by the Australian Government in recognition of policies of past governments. Similarly, the former Australian Government apologised to Vietnam veterans for the policies of previous governments. The current Government is apologising for wrongful policies of governments. No individual Australian is being asked to take personal responsibility for actions of past governments.
5. What does an apology mean to me as a non-Indigenous Australian?
Following on from apologies already made by all State and Territory governments and the churches, an official apology to members of the stolen generations by the Australian Government is an important step towards building a respectful new relationship between us as Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians. Respectful relationships are essential if we are to solve persistent problems.
In this way, the apology will allow us to work together more effectively towards closing the 17-year life expectancy gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous children - the starkest evidence of how government policies have failed. It is an important starting point in healing the wounds and an historic step forward for our nation that we can be proud of.
The apology is not an expression of personal responsibility or guilt by individual Australians. But it does reflect our Australian values of compassion and a fair go, and allows the victims of bad policy to feel that their pain and suffering has been acknowledged. It’s important that Australians understand the background to the apology so they understand why it’s a good thing for the nation – it is this understanding that will realise the great potential of this historic moment to move our nation forward.
These days I don’t understand why it should be such a big deal to say sorry for the injustices that have been done to Indigenous people. I know some people feel differently but, to me, saying sorry just feels necessary as a first step towards moving forward together. Daniel Johns, lead singer of Silverchair
6. Why should we apologise when many Aboriginal people are actually better off because they were removed from dysfunctional families?
It is true that some Indigenous children were removed from their families on genuine welfare grounds. It is also true that some children who were removed received some advantages, for example in education, but the overwhelming impact of the forced removal policy was damaging.
People involved in the removal of children genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. But as we now know, they were not.
It’s important to understand that the “stolen generations” refer to those children who were removed on the basis of their race alone. In contrast with the removal of non-Indigenous children, proof of neglect was not always required to remove Indigenous children. That one of their parents was of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent was enough.
The predominant aim of the forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families was to absorb or assimilate children with mixed ancestry into the non-Indigenous community. As Brisbane's Telegraph newspaper reported in May 1937:
Mr Neville [the Chief Protector of WA] holds the view that within one hundred years the pure black will be extinct. But the half-caste problem is increasing every year. Therefore their idea is to keep the pure blacks segregated and absorb the half-castes into the white population. Perhaps it will take one hundred years, perhaps longer, but the race is dying.
The Bringing Them Home report found that many children were removed solely on the basis of skin colour. Because of this, siblings from the one family who were considered to be of lighter skin colour would be removed when others were left.
The suggestion that stolen generations children were better off is untrue on any reasonable assessment of the cases where they were placed in situations of deprivation, neglect and abuse. People who were removed gave evidence to the Inquiry of their mistreatment under State care - this ranged from inadequate food and clothing, to physical, sexual and psychological abuse.
Almost a quarter of witnesses to the Inquiry who were fostered or adopted reported being physically abused. One in five reported being sexually abused. One in six children sent to institutions reported physical abuse and one in ten reported sexual abuse.
7. Will an apology lead to claims for compensation from members of the stolen generations?
The Bringing Them Home report recommended the establishment of a national compensation fund for people affected by the forcible removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. The aim of the fund would be to offer reparation to those affected and avoid the courts having to deal with costly individual litigation.
An official apology is not directly related to compensation. All State and Territory governments have apologised and this has not triggered any rush of compensation claims.
The Tasmanian Government has chosen to set up a compensation fund for members of the stolen generations in that State. It has provided $5 million in capped payments to be divided among eligible people and their families. http://www.premier.tas.gov.au/speeches/stolen.html
The Government of South Australia is also considering establishing a fund. Queensland and New South Wales have ruled out stolen generations compensation funds, although both States are providing reparations for policies under which Aboriginal people could be put to work but not paid.
The West Australian Government announced in late 2007 the ‘Redress WA’ program to provide monetary and emotional support to people who were abused as children in State care, including members of the stolen generations.
http://www.redress.wa.gov.au/
The Australia Government has said it will not establish a fund at the national level but will direct funds to counselling services for members of the stolen generations and services that help people who were removed as children to find their families and communities.
Reconciliation for me is about recognising the past. Acting in the present. And building a better future. The Hon. Paul Lennon MP, Premier of Tasmania
8. Why is the word ‘sorry’ important as part of the apology?
The word ‘sorry’ holds special meaning in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. In many Aboriginal communities, sorry is an adapted English word used to describe the rituals surrounding death (Sorry Business). Sorry, in these contexts, is also often used to express empathy or sympathy rather than responsibility.
During the 2007 election campaign, then Opposition Leader Kevin Rudd also recognised the significance of the word sorry:
“… simply saying that you’re sorry is such a powerful symbol. Powerful not because it represents some expiation of guilt. Powerful not because it represents any form of legal requirement. But powerful simply because it restores respect”
9. Why didn’t the former Australian Government say sorry?
In 1997, the recommendation of the Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families for an official apology was not taken up by the new Australian Government led by John Howard. Mr Howard argued that it was not appropriate for the current Government to apologise for the actions of past governments. He also said he was concerned that a formal admission of wrongdoing would lead to compensation litigation.
All State and Territory governments did issue formal apologies in the period following the Inquiry and these did not generate a rush of compensation claims.
In 1999, the Australian Government moved a motion for reconciliation with an expression of:
“deep and sincere regret that indigenous Australians suffered injustices under the practices of past generations, and for the hurt and trauma that many indigenous people continue to feel as a consequence of those practices.”
10. Will the apology mean that reconciliation has been achieved?
An apology from the Australian Government to the stolen generations is one important step in achieving the overarching objective of reconciliation which is to close the 17-year life expectancy gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous children. It is important because it removes a barrier to us establishing a more respectful relationship as Indigenous and non-Indigenous fellow Australians.
Closing the life expectancy gap involves consistent, long term action by governments, and by all Australians, in health, education, housing, employment etc and also in building respectful relationships that generate better outcomes for us all.
Aboriginal academic Marcia Langton suggests that a formal apology will achieve two things: firstly it will aid in the restoration of a sense of dignity and legitimacy to those who have suffered, and secondly it will acknowledge the serious harm done by previous governments to a class of people on the grounds of their race.
True reconciliation between the Australian nation and its indigenous peoples is not achievable in the absence of acknowledgment by the nation of the wrongfulness of the past dispossession, oppression and degradation of the Aboriginal peoples. Sir William Deane, Governor-General of Australia, 1997
Case Study: Canada's ‘Common Experience Fund’
Canada’s Indigenous population shares some of the experiences of Indigenous Australians. From the early 1880s, Indigenous Canadian children were removed from their homes on the basis of their race and placed in church-run, government funded residential schools. From 1920 until early 1970 this removal was experienced by practically all Indigenous children. These schools were created to encourage assimilation and to suppress Indigenous culture and language.
The United Church of Canada recently apologised for this “horrendous period of Canadian history” and the Canadian Government also extended a formal apology in the form of an action plan. The action plan included a statement of reconciliation in which the Canadian Government recognised and apologised for “the single most harmful, disgraceful and racist act” in their history.
The apology led to a range of lawsuits and helped Ottawa’s Government to come to a settlement with First Nation representatives. As a result of the settlement, the Canadian Government provided a $1.9 billion compensation fund for the ‘common experience’ of all people who were affected by the removal of Indigenous children. All residential school survivors are entitled to apply for the ‘common experience payment’. If the applicant is successful they receive a standard $10,000 in compensation and a further $3,000 for each year they were placed in the school. The Government has also provided an extra $3 billion in compensation to survivors who suffered sexual and physical abuse in the residential schools.
Currently 85,080 applications for the ‘common experience’ payment have been received. Of that number, 56,625 have been processed with 46,910 being successful.
This material has been prepared by Reconciliation Australia to help Australians understand the background to the apology that will be made to the stolen generations by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd.
1. Who are the stolen generations?
2. How do we know these people’s stories are true?
3. Why is it important to apologise to the stolen generations?
4. Why should Australians today apologise for something we aren’t responsible for?
5. What does an apology mean to me as a non-Indigenous Australian?
6. Why should we apologise when many Aboriginal people are actually better off because they were removed from dysfunctional families?
7. Will an apology lead to claims for compensation from members of the stolen generations?
8. Why is the word ‘sorry’ important as part of the apology?
1. Who are the stolen generations?
The term ‘stolen generations’ refers to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians who were forcibly removed from their families and communities by government, welfare or church authorities as children and placed into institutional care or with non-Indigenous foster families. The forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children began as early as the mid 1800s and continued until 1970.
This removal occurred as the result of official laws and policies aimed at assimilating the Indigenous population into the wider community.
The 1997 Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, conducted by the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission found that between 1 in 10 and 3 in 10 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children were forcibly removed from their families and communities in the period from 1910 to 1970.
The Western Australian and Queensland governments have confirmed that in that period all Indigenous families in their States were affected by the forced removal of children. It’s not possible to know precisely how many children were taken because government records of these removals are poor and many government files are inaccurate.
The stolen generation should not be confused with other government policies which aimed to help Aboriginal children from remote areas to go to school with their parents full consent. It should also not be confused with the removal of Indigenous and non-Indigenous children from dysfunctional families under welfare policies that continue to apply today.
2. How do we know these people’s stories are true?
All State and Territory governments have acknowledged past practices and policies of forced removal of Indigenous children on the basis of race. As part of this formal acknowledgement, all State and Territory governments have apologised for the trauma these policies have caused.
The report of the Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, called the Bringing them Home report, contains extensive evidence of past practices and policies which resulted in the removal of children. It also details the conditions into which many
of the children were placed and discussed the negative impact this has had on individuals, their families and the broader Indigenous community.
The Inquiry took evidence from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, government and church representatives, former mission staff, foster and adoptive parents, doctors and health professionals, academics, police and others. It received over 777 submissions, including 535 from Indigenous individuals and organisations, 49 from church organisations and 7 from governments.
3. Why is it important to apologise to the stolen generations?
The Bringing Them Home report found that the forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families and communities has had life-long and profoundly disabling consequences for those taken and has negatively affected the Indigenous community. For many of the children, removal meant that they lost all connection to family, traditional land, culture and language.
It never goes away. Just ‘cause we’re not walking around on crutches or with bandages or plasters on our legs and arms, doesn’t mean we’re not hurting. Just ’cause you can’t see it doesn’t mean … I suspect I’ll carry these sorts of wounds ’til I the day I die. I’d just like it to be not quite as intense, that’s all. Confidential evidence 580, Queensland. Bringing Them Home Report
The reality of Australia’s stolen generations is not a thing of the distant past. Children were being inappropriately removed from their families by Australian authorities until 1969. Many people affected by the tragedy of the stolen generations are still alive today and live with its effects.
The Bringing Them Home report recommended that the first step in healing is the acknowledgment of truth and the delivery of an apology. It is the responsibility of the Australian Government, on behalf of previous Australian governments that administered this wrongful policy to acknowledge what was done and apologise for it.
This issue is a ‘blank spot’ in the history of Australia. The damage and trauma these policies caused are felt everyday by Aboriginal people. They internalise their grief, guilt and confusion, inflicting further pain on themselves and others around them. It is about time the Australian Government openly accepted responsibility for their actions and compensate those affected.
Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter (In Buti A, Bringing them home the ALSA way)
4. Why should Australians today apologise for something we aren’t responsible for?
Individual Australians are not providing the apology. The apology is being provided by the Australian Government in recognition of policies of past governments. Similarly, the former Australian Government apologised to Vietnam veterans for the policies of previous governments. The current Government is apologising for wrongful policies of governments. No individual Australian is being asked to take personal responsibility for actions of past governments.
5. What does an apology mean to me as a non-Indigenous Australian?
Following on from apologies already made by all State and Territory governments and the churches, an official apology to members of the stolen generations by the Australian Government is an important step towards building a respectful new relationship between us as Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians. Respectful relationships are essential if we are to solve persistent problems.
In this way, the apology will allow us to work together more effectively towards closing the 17-year life expectancy gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous children - the starkest evidence of how government policies have failed. It is an important starting point in healing the wounds and an historic step forward for our nation that we can be proud of.
The apology is not an expression of personal responsibility or guilt by individual Australians. But it does reflect our Australian values of compassion and a fair go, and allows the victims of bad policy to feel that their pain and suffering has been acknowledged. It’s important that Australians understand the background to the apology so they understand why it’s a good thing for the nation – it is this understanding that will realise the great potential of this historic moment to move our nation forward.
These days I don’t understand why it should be such a big deal to say sorry for the injustices that have been done to Indigenous people. I know some people feel differently but, to me, saying sorry just feels necessary as a first step towards moving forward together. Daniel Johns, lead singer of Silverchair
6. Why should we apologise when many Aboriginal people are actually better off because they were removed from dysfunctional families?
It is true that some Indigenous children were removed from their families on genuine welfare grounds. It is also true that some children who were removed received some advantages, for example in education, but the overwhelming impact of the forced removal policy was damaging.
People involved in the removal of children genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. But as we now know, they were not.
It’s important to understand that the “stolen generations” refer to those children who were removed on the basis of their race alone. In contrast with the removal of non-Indigenous children, proof of neglect was not always required to remove Indigenous children. That one of their parents was of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent was enough.
The predominant aim of the forced removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families was to absorb or assimilate children with mixed ancestry into the non-Indigenous community. As Brisbane's Telegraph newspaper reported in May 1937:
Mr Neville [the Chief Protector of WA] holds the view that within one hundred years the pure black will be extinct. But the half-caste problem is increasing every year. Therefore their idea is to keep the pure blacks segregated and absorb the half-castes into the white population. Perhaps it will take one hundred years, perhaps longer, but the race is dying.
The Bringing Them Home report found that many children were removed solely on the basis of skin colour. Because of this, siblings from the one family who were considered to be of lighter skin colour would be removed when others were left.
The suggestion that stolen generations children were better off is untrue on any reasonable assessment of the cases where they were placed in situations of deprivation, neglect and abuse. People who were removed gave evidence to the Inquiry of their mistreatment under State care - this ranged from inadequate food and clothing, to physical, sexual and psychological abuse.
Almost a quarter of witnesses to the Inquiry who were fostered or adopted reported being physically abused. One in five reported being sexually abused. One in six children sent to institutions reported physical abuse and one in ten reported sexual abuse.
7. Will an apology lead to claims for compensation from members of the stolen generations?
The Bringing Them Home report recommended the establishment of a national compensation fund for people affected by the forcible removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. The aim of the fund would be to offer reparation to those affected and avoid the courts having to deal with costly individual litigation.
An official apology is not directly related to compensation. All State and Territory governments have apologised and this has not triggered any rush of compensation claims.
The Tasmanian Government has chosen to set up a compensation fund for members of the stolen generations in that State. It has provided $5 million in capped payments to be divided among eligible people and their families. http://www.premier.tas.gov.au/speeches/stolen.html
The Government of South Australia is also considering establishing a fund. Queensland and New South Wales have ruled out stolen generations compensation funds, although both States are providing reparations for policies under which Aboriginal people could be put to work but not paid.
The West Australian Government announced in late 2007 the ‘Redress WA’ program to provide monetary and emotional support to people who were abused as children in State care, including members of the stolen generations.
http://www.redress.wa.gov.au/
The Australia Government has said it will not establish a fund at the national level but will direct funds to counselling services for members of the stolen generations and services that help people who were removed as children to find their families and communities.
Reconciliation for me is about recognising the past. Acting in the present. And building a better future. The Hon. Paul Lennon MP, Premier of Tasmania
8. Why is the word ‘sorry’ important as part of the apology?
The word ‘sorry’ holds special meaning in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. In many Aboriginal communities, sorry is an adapted English word used to describe the rituals surrounding death (Sorry Business). Sorry, in these contexts, is also often used to express empathy or sympathy rather than responsibility.
During the 2007 election campaign, then Opposition Leader Kevin Rudd also recognised the significance of the word sorry:
“… simply saying that you’re sorry is such a powerful symbol. Powerful not because it represents some expiation of guilt. Powerful not because it represents any form of legal requirement. But powerful simply because it restores respect”
9. Why didn’t the former Australian Government say sorry?
In 1997, the recommendation of the Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families for an official apology was not taken up by the new Australian Government led by John Howard. Mr Howard argued that it was not appropriate for the current Government to apologise for the actions of past governments. He also said he was concerned that a formal admission of wrongdoing would lead to compensation litigation.
All State and Territory governments did issue formal apologies in the period following the Inquiry and these did not generate a rush of compensation claims.
In 1999, the Australian Government moved a motion for reconciliation with an expression of:
“deep and sincere regret that indigenous Australians suffered injustices under the practices of past generations, and for the hurt and trauma that many indigenous people continue to feel as a consequence of those practices.”
10. Will the apology mean that reconciliation has been achieved?
An apology from the Australian Government to the stolen generations is one important step in achieving the overarching objective of reconciliation which is to close the 17-year life expectancy gap between Indigenous and non-Indigenous children. It is important because it removes a barrier to us establishing a more respectful relationship as Indigenous and non-Indigenous fellow Australians.
Closing the life expectancy gap involves consistent, long term action by governments, and by all Australians, in health, education, housing, employment etc and also in building respectful relationships that generate better outcomes for us all.
Aboriginal academic Marcia Langton suggests that a formal apology will achieve two things: firstly it will aid in the restoration of a sense of dignity and legitimacy to those who have suffered, and secondly it will acknowledge the serious harm done by previous governments to a class of people on the grounds of their race.
True reconciliation between the Australian nation and its indigenous peoples is not achievable in the absence of acknowledgment by the nation of the wrongfulness of the past dispossession, oppression and degradation of the Aboriginal peoples. Sir William Deane, Governor-General of Australia, 1997
Case Study: Canada's ‘Common Experience Fund’
Canada’s Indigenous population shares some of the experiences of Indigenous Australians. From the early 1880s, Indigenous Canadian children were removed from their homes on the basis of their race and placed in church-run, government funded residential schools. From 1920 until early 1970 this removal was experienced by practically all Indigenous children. These schools were created to encourage assimilation and to suppress Indigenous culture and language.
The United Church of Canada recently apologised for this “horrendous period of Canadian history” and the Canadian Government also extended a formal apology in the form of an action plan. The action plan included a statement of reconciliation in which the Canadian Government recognised and apologised for “the single most harmful, disgraceful and racist act” in their history.
The apology led to a range of lawsuits and helped Ottawa’s Government to come to a settlement with First Nation representatives. As a result of the settlement, the Canadian Government provided a $1.9 billion compensation fund for the ‘common experience’ of all people who were affected by the removal of Indigenous children. All residential school survivors are entitled to apply for the ‘common experience payment’. If the applicant is successful they receive a standard $10,000 in compensation and a further $3,000 for each year they were placed in the school. The Government has also provided an extra $3 billion in compensation to survivors who suffered sexual and physical abuse in the residential schools.
Currently 85,080 applications for the ‘common experience’ payment have been received. Of that number, 56,625 have been processed with 46,910 being successful.
Friday, 7 March 2008
Johnny who?
What a pathetic coward. John Howard waits until he’s out of the country before he makes any comment about current affairs in Australia, and when he does, (in a speech to the American Enterprise Institute in Washington on Thursday 6/3/08) he pretends that he wasn’t given the most humiliating thrashing any political leader in Australia, and possibly the world, has ever had. Howard slams the Rudd government for abandoning Work Choices as though it wasn’t the single most significant issue on which Labor won the 2007 election. Oh, and he makes no reference to the fact that the party he lead to utter ignominy abandoned every last link to Work Choices after being thrashed yet again by public opinion when Julie Bishop foreshadowed opposing the abolition of AWAs in the Senate. This is not mere denial: it’s outright contempt. And it gets worse. Howard’s Washington speech was entitled “Sharing our common values”. Our common values?
Yes, that’s right, the man who lost the right to speak for the nation in the most excoriating repudiation of the values he embodied for eleven and a half years still presumes to know what Australian values are, and pretends to have the right to speak on our behalf, as if we didn’t know what we were doing when we sacked him and his fawning cling-ons at the last election. The fact that he was not prepared to say to Australians in Australia what he said to his mates in a foreign country really says it all. He’s a gutless wonder. No that’s giving him too much credit. He’s just plain gutless – the most damning proof of which is actually something else he failed to do in this country. Who was conspicuous by his absence when Kevin Rudd apologised to the Stolen Generations?
Little Johnny has never embodied the values that underpin this country – doesn’t hold a candle to the Anzacs, for example, whom he was so fond of cuddling up to when in office, because he hasn’t learned anything from defeat, behaving more like Saddam Hussein claiming a great victory after the first Gulf War.
Howard hasn’t actually claimed a victory. He’s just refused to accept that he and what he actually stood for has been repudiated. Yet in his speech he said this:
“… a number of the more conservative social policies of my government have been endorsed by the new Australian government…The sincerity of its conversion will be tested by experience of office."
The man is utterly shameless. Not to mention narcissistic. He implies that the policies he refers to are his gift to the nation, and that only he could pull them off, when the truth is that they were opportunistic caricatures of what is actually needed: the NT intervention being the prime case in point. His brazen claim to be the better economic manager is another one. And the appalling state of our defense equipment is its own comment on his claim to be the bulwark of the nation’s security. Name any policy that Howard claimed to be the best at and you’ll find a white anted reality behind a façade of political machismo.
The measure of Howard the coward is that he can’t admit that he was wrong. Worse still, he hasn’t got the guts to say in his own country that he still believes that his policies are the right ones for Australia. He has to skulk off to Imperial Capital to be feted by the powerful effete (sic).
Two further observations in closing.
Firstly, everyone in Australia is aware of the fact that the only other Prime Minister to lose his seat at an election lost it over industrial relations. What most people probably aren’t aware of is that the only other political leader who clung to government beyond his parliamentary term, as Howard did in 2007, also lost the election. There's probably a lesson in that. Anyone want to write an opera about it?
Secondly, remember “Aspirational Nationalism”? Remember all those discussions about what it could possibly mean? Well, here’s another one from when Howard was treasurer: “Incentivation”. Remember that one? Remember the bagging he got for it? My point is, he didn’t learn anything from that episode. He continued to live in a world of his own out of which he thought he could gift the nation with words and phrases that didn’t even have what it takes to become clichés. John Howard is not just a coward. He’s a empty vessel. In the end it really was appropriate that he did not attend the Apology. He isn’t worthy of it.
Let him have his day in the land of the brave and the home of the free, by all means. Let him wallow in the fantasy that he is the suffering servant rejected by his own household. But please, let’s not have a blow by blow account of it in the media. Not because as left-liberals, which he so contemptuously labels anyone who recognizes him for what he is, we don’t want to hear “good news”, but because we’ve had a gut full of political pornography.
Yes, that’s right, the man who lost the right to speak for the nation in the most excoriating repudiation of the values he embodied for eleven and a half years still presumes to know what Australian values are, and pretends to have the right to speak on our behalf, as if we didn’t know what we were doing when we sacked him and his fawning cling-ons at the last election. The fact that he was not prepared to say to Australians in Australia what he said to his mates in a foreign country really says it all. He’s a gutless wonder. No that’s giving him too much credit. He’s just plain gutless – the most damning proof of which is actually something else he failed to do in this country. Who was conspicuous by his absence when Kevin Rudd apologised to the Stolen Generations?
Little Johnny has never embodied the values that underpin this country – doesn’t hold a candle to the Anzacs, for example, whom he was so fond of cuddling up to when in office, because he hasn’t learned anything from defeat, behaving more like Saddam Hussein claiming a great victory after the first Gulf War.
Howard hasn’t actually claimed a victory. He’s just refused to accept that he and what he actually stood for has been repudiated. Yet in his speech he said this:
“… a number of the more conservative social policies of my government have been endorsed by the new Australian government…The sincerity of its conversion will be tested by experience of office."
The man is utterly shameless. Not to mention narcissistic. He implies that the policies he refers to are his gift to the nation, and that only he could pull them off, when the truth is that they were opportunistic caricatures of what is actually needed: the NT intervention being the prime case in point. His brazen claim to be the better economic manager is another one. And the appalling state of our defense equipment is its own comment on his claim to be the bulwark of the nation’s security. Name any policy that Howard claimed to be the best at and you’ll find a white anted reality behind a façade of political machismo.
The measure of Howard the coward is that he can’t admit that he was wrong. Worse still, he hasn’t got the guts to say in his own country that he still believes that his policies are the right ones for Australia. He has to skulk off to Imperial Capital to be feted by the powerful effete (sic).
Two further observations in closing.
Firstly, everyone in Australia is aware of the fact that the only other Prime Minister to lose his seat at an election lost it over industrial relations. What most people probably aren’t aware of is that the only other political leader who clung to government beyond his parliamentary term, as Howard did in 2007, also lost the election. There's probably a lesson in that. Anyone want to write an opera about it?
Secondly, remember “Aspirational Nationalism”? Remember all those discussions about what it could possibly mean? Well, here’s another one from when Howard was treasurer: “Incentivation”. Remember that one? Remember the bagging he got for it? My point is, he didn’t learn anything from that episode. He continued to live in a world of his own out of which he thought he could gift the nation with words and phrases that didn’t even have what it takes to become clichés. John Howard is not just a coward. He’s a empty vessel. In the end it really was appropriate that he did not attend the Apology. He isn’t worthy of it.
Let him have his day in the land of the brave and the home of the free, by all means. Let him wallow in the fantasy that he is the suffering servant rejected by his own household. But please, let’s not have a blow by blow account of it in the media. Not because as left-liberals, which he so contemptuously labels anyone who recognizes him for what he is, we don’t want to hear “good news”, but because we’ve had a gut full of political pornography.
Coup disgrace, or portent of coup d’etat
Can you believe the opposition in the Parliament of Australia? The cardboard Kevin stunt was a new low point – lower than even I would have given them credit for. And while it is far from the worst thing that could happen in a representative democracy, it indicates how little regard the people involved have for those who gave them their jobs.
In case someone is asking, What’s cardboard Kevin, here’s a quick outline of the incident, preceded by what led up to it.
Until this year, the federal parliament, when in session has sat four days a week. But from now on it’s five. Well, until the government realises what a stupid idea it is, anyway. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there is to be no Question Time on Fridays. What’s more, while back benchers are expected to be in the house, dealing with parliamentary business – though not necessarily in the chamber – ministers can be out doing other stuff. This is not just new, it is unexpected and arguably unconstitutional. And it’s not just the opposition who are contesting it. Pretty well every political commentator has had a go at it. Hopefully, the trainer wheels will come off and the new team on the treasury benches will realise that just because you’re the government doesn’t mean that you can do what you like. That said, there are ways of opposing such measures, and ways of demeaning yourself and the parliament, and on Friday 22/2/08 the opposition did the latter.
There has always been too much posturing on both sides of the house, leaving insufficient time for constructive dialogue between government and opposition. But the opposition’s behaviour on that day went way beyond posturing and was actually in contempt of the parliament. They behaved like smart aleck teen agers provocatively flouting the law, defying the Speaker time after time; three of them even refused to leave the chamber when told to do so. Their self inflicted coup disgrace was bringing a cardboard cut out of the Prime Minister into the chamber to highlight his absence. This shows how little regard they have for their workplace and the people who put them there. The parliament is not the school yard. There are rules governing behaviour in the chamber – strict rules for non members in the gallery forbidding stunts and demonstrations – so that those on the floor of the house can do their job. When members on the floor of parliament start behaving as though they are at a demonstration, they are clearly in contempt of the parliament itself and the nation which elected it.
Deceitful arguments in parliamentary debates are one thing, but outright contempt of procedure suggests deeply disturbing possibilities. If things ever get seriously desperate in this country, it won’t be reds under the bed who make push come to shove.
In case someone is asking, What’s cardboard Kevin, here’s a quick outline of the incident, preceded by what led up to it.
Until this year, the federal parliament, when in session has sat four days a week. But from now on it’s five. Well, until the government realises what a stupid idea it is, anyway. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there is to be no Question Time on Fridays. What’s more, while back benchers are expected to be in the house, dealing with parliamentary business – though not necessarily in the chamber – ministers can be out doing other stuff. This is not just new, it is unexpected and arguably unconstitutional. And it’s not just the opposition who are contesting it. Pretty well every political commentator has had a go at it. Hopefully, the trainer wheels will come off and the new team on the treasury benches will realise that just because you’re the government doesn’t mean that you can do what you like. That said, there are ways of opposing such measures, and ways of demeaning yourself and the parliament, and on Friday 22/2/08 the opposition did the latter.
There has always been too much posturing on both sides of the house, leaving insufficient time for constructive dialogue between government and opposition. But the opposition’s behaviour on that day went way beyond posturing and was actually in contempt of the parliament. They behaved like smart aleck teen agers provocatively flouting the law, defying the Speaker time after time; three of them even refused to leave the chamber when told to do so. Their self inflicted coup disgrace was bringing a cardboard cut out of the Prime Minister into the chamber to highlight his absence. This shows how little regard they have for their workplace and the people who put them there. The parliament is not the school yard. There are rules governing behaviour in the chamber – strict rules for non members in the gallery forbidding stunts and demonstrations – so that those on the floor of the house can do their job. When members on the floor of parliament start behaving as though they are at a demonstration, they are clearly in contempt of the parliament itself and the nation which elected it.
Deceitful arguments in parliamentary debates are one thing, but outright contempt of procedure suggests deeply disturbing possibilities. If things ever get seriously desperate in this country, it won’t be reds under the bed who make push come to shove.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Mountain Patrol, a film by Lu Chuan
Have you been waiting for a film about defenders of the environment in which the true cost of poaching – to the environment and to people – is laid bare without equivocation or embellishment? Then you really need to see this film. It is set in Tibet and is about a patrol of volunteers trying to prevent the extinction of the Tibetan Antelope. It is not a documentary but a drama. It is not your average Hollywood blockbuster, but blockbuster it is in the power of its narrative and the gut wrenching choices that are made in the course of events. And of course, the scenery is breath taking. Apart from that I don’t want to say much, because anything I say would give too much away. It’s a foreign language film, so if you’re like me and don’t generally watch them because you miss most of the action, because you spend most of your time reading the sub-titles, don’t be put off. The dialogue is very sparse and the sub-titles are very short and easy to read. The impact comes as much from the surprises – and there are a few of them – as from the storyline – which is an account of real events – so I do not recommend reading about it or researching it before watching it. But if you really must have prior information, here’s a link to its website:
http://www.nationalgeographic.com/mountainpatrol/
http://www.nationalgeographic.com/mountainpatrol/
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Lightning Trip to Sydney and back February 2008
WARNING
If you are offended by sexual inuendo there is a sentence in this post that will be problematic for you.
Going down on the highwayOn Saturday (9/2/08) I drove to Sydney to collect John’s piece from the Graduate Exhibition (mentioned in last month’s Bull tin). I left at 6:00 am and arrived at Blackheath in the Blue Mountains at 6:00 pm, where I stayed at my friend Penny’s place overnight; then drove down to Gomorrah at 6:45 am on Sunday, had breakfast in Glebe and collected the art work at 10:30 am and headed back to Mullumbimby, arriving at 11:45 pm. Are you exhausted already just reading about it? Well let me tell you, I hope John has many more pieces to deliver to Sydney, (though not to collect, for the point of any further deliveries would be to sell them) because I’ll be there to do the job. You see, I just happen to love driving. I really should have been a truckie.
What I love about long distance driving is the freedom to wander in one’s mind’s body through the landscape one is traversing to the accompaniment of fine music – and on this occasion to the riveting voice of a reader “singing” Finnegan’s Wake. I say singing, even though he was reading, because the story, even though it is a work of prose, can only be described as a song – an EPIC song! More about that in another blog post. It also gave me the opportunity to do a bit of singing myself. I included among the discs I took the recording of last year’s concert, to which I sang along delighting in the fact that I could sing the whole thing from memory, without the score to keep me from straying from the tenor part. I also took a disc of Teddy Tahu Rhodes (a bass/baritone) and hummed and harred my way through that as well, realising that that there was not a single bass note on the disc that I could not reach – which gave me the bright idea of collecting a few baritone pieces for my repertoire. Not that I could ever sound like TTR, I hasten to say. At some point the hilarious thought occurred to me that a singing truckie might attract the nick-name “Bullocky”. So from now on I will answer to “Bull”, being already an accomplisher bull artist. Ah, to be Irish to be sure!!
I went down on the Pacific Highway and back on the New England Highway. Suddenly I am riveted by the thought of going down on a highway – one that I may come back to next time I write a stand up script. Anyway, it’s not as though either highway was new to me. I know them intimately, having travelled them often in my misspent youth, and less frequently in later years. What was unique about this trip was that I did them both of successive days. The phrase that springs to mind, to summarise the experience is “The Two Australias”. It’s a phrase that normally applies to the gap between the haves and the have nots. And anyone who gives it a nanosecond of thought realises that there are actually “many Australias”. Even in the (usually) socially and politically neutral topic of landscape, there are a lot more than two Australias. But in general, we readily recognise and relate to “the coast” and “the inland”. That’s what I’m getting at here. That’s the contrast that you get in no uncertain terms when you travel between two points approximately 800 kilometres apart by different highways: the Pacific Highway along the coast; and the New England Highway through the inland.
Now, before anyone gets up too big a head of steam scoffing at the notion that Tamworth, for example, really is the inland, let me say, true, it’s not Alice Springs or Jiggalong. But it is sheep country, and it is the Country Music Kapital of ze nonejuniverz. And it is in the most exquisitely subtle landscape. On the coast there is close settlement including villages every 10 minutes and big towns or small cities as you prefer, about an hour apart; and biggish rivers, especially in the Northern Rivers Region. There’s a lot of evidence of man-made landscape: orchards, cash crops, dairy farms – or once were dairy farms, with their decaying infrastructure; trees, such as figs and pines that are obviously not native, but have become so much part of our psychological landscape that it would not be Australia without them. Along the Pacific Highway, there is not a kilometre that has not been visibly shaped by human activity. And the most astounding thing about that is that it is actually quite pleasant to experience – mostly. The other important distinguishing characteristic of this landscape is that it is a coastal plain. It has its ups and downs, but in general, it offers very few long distance vistas. By contrast, the New England Highway traverses downlands whose modest ridges provide at every turn the kind of views that town dwellers pay premium prices for. There is very little human habitation to be seen between towns, very few exotic trees, very few crops, but there are, at times, large numbers of grazing animals, mainly sheep, but no where near as many as one might expect, probably because the properties are so vast, and their carrying capacity so small, that the animals are rarely near roads as they eat their way across their sparsely foddered domains. Another highly visible feature of the landscape, especially the further north you get, is granite boulders strewn ever so decorously across the paddocks. God, it seems, was, is and ever shall be, an exterior decorator – among other things. There is a modesty about the towns along the inland highway. They’ve barely left the nineteenth century. The twenty first century will very likely never venture their way – except in the form of highways between distant urban centres. What does it tell you when Macdonalds is on a bypass rather than in a town?
The most amazing thing about the New England Highway on this trip was the number of semi-trailers and B Doubles on it – or, rather, not on it. It used to be truckie territory until very recently when the Pacific Highway was opened up to unregulated road transport. On this trip I counted five (5) (sic, 5, five only!) big mothers. There were a slightly larger number of covered fixed tray trucks that would have to be there for local commerce, but in general, I had the road to myself most of the time. I need to say that I am in no way saying that I prefer one highway to the other. I truly appreciate what each has to offer and am grateful beyond my ability to express for the opportunity to se so much in so quickly.
Which raises the question, does one really actually see anything at all, covering so much territory in so little time. Wouldn’t it be better, for example to see the granite boulders at walking pace – as a real bullocky would? Well, it would certainly be good to see them at walking pace, but not necessarily better. And if we’re talking walking pace, we’re talking a very limited amount of landscape that can be taken in. Sure, it can be taken in greater detail, but there’s also a lot to be said for taking in the kind of bigger picture that driving two highways in two days affords.
The last four hours of the trip were a mistake I will not make again. I was at Glen Innes at 6:45 pm and should have stopped at a motel. Instead, I took the road down to Grafton. I’d done Tenterfield to Lismore several times since moving to Nirvana, and wanted to see a road I’d never been on. Well I saw less than half of it, because it was dark by 8:00 pm which meant that the best part – the descent from the big ridge – was illuminated only by headlights. I was in Grafton by 9:15 pm where I refueled and reMacdonaldsed for the final leg. It didn’t matter that it was at night. I could drive that part of the road with my eyes closed, I’ve done it so many times – never, I might add, with my eyes closed, but. Eh?
Aboriginal people would say that it is the landscape that provides one with identity. Another view of the world would say the human consciousness engages with the landscape and animates it. I’m not here to choose between the two. But I am here to say that the landscape and I sang to each other. I can’t claim to know what Aborigines mean when they talk about singing the landscape. But I know what I mean by it. It is now a week since I went to a singing night with the leader of my choir, and got up the next morning at 5:00 am to set off on what turned out to be an unbelievably intense experience. That intensity has not diminished one bit. The amazing thing is that I can now travel at the speed of thought from point to point on that journey – not in a linear succession, but through “worm holes” so that one moment I am marvelling at how beautiful Richmond is; then gasping at undulating rows of grassed hills; then counting the intersections in Sydney between key points on my exit route (printed off on Friday afternoon courtesy of the WhereiS website – whose address follows for anyone unaware of it
http://www.whereis.com/whereis/home.do;jsessionid=BE9C68770CA0B29DF0A8146BD4FEEC82.server2-1); then zooming across the Clarence River; then winding up the Bells Line of Road; then approaching the point at Hexam where there is a large yellow diamond shaped road sign with a black graphic consisting of a vertical line which branches at the top into two opposing acute angles that might be arms bent at the elbows were there a circle between them to represent a head, and in the absence of which could only, therefore, be legs bent at the knees. Maybe this was where I got the idea of going down on the highway. Just kiddin’ of course, but it was nevertheless the moment when it occurred to me that the trip would be all the more stimulating if I took the alternative route back home.
It really was an exciting moment. I had about 150 metres to decide. But, really, there was nothing to decide. The yellow diamond was its own meaning. Not merely a road sign indicating where the New England Highway digressed from the Pacific Highway, but a sign!! the like of which is not easily disregarded. As I entered the roundabout it was like approaching close enough to a heavenly body and using its gravity to effect a tangential slingshot. Rather than go right around I took the first exit and was on my way into the parallel universe, so to speak, of the inland. The trip had acquired an unexpected dimension. I knew vaguely the sequence of towns I would come to, but had no idea of the distances between them – unlike how it would have been had I returned along the Pacific Highway. I relaxed into a state of unknowing and said Let the future come. And it did – to an intoxicating cocktail of Vivaldi, performed by people I know; Teddy Tahu Rhodes, performed by Teddy Tahu Rhodes; and James Joyce, performed by who knows whom. Oh bliss the day!!
The artwork got home in several pieces, which is quite OK because it consisted of several pieces in the first place. A very slight amount of damage occurred on the way, but nothing that anyone would notice. Our cats greeted me with questions about where I’d been for the last two days. Well, they didn’t actually have to ask. I could see it in their faces. So I explained that Daddy had to do a little job for Daddy, and that I’d tell them more in the morning, after I’d emailed Penny that I’d arrived, had a shower and then a sleep. The next morning, however, it was as though nothing had happened. All they wanted was their daily portion of kangaroo meat. Cats can be so…. so….. wonder full.
Finnegan's Wake, by James Joyce
...have you ever swum in Finnegan’s Wake? I’ve tried reading it, more than once, and was defeated by page ten every time – not defeated by the page numbered ten, but by the time I’d got through ten pages I was sunk. Confused? You should try reading the book. You can’t imagine confusion if you haven’t – haven’t read the book, not haven’t imagined confusion. The question is, Is it a book about a gathering after a funeral, or are the pages containing the words a vessel that leaves a line of disturbance across the otherwise calm surface of oceanic consciousness? That’s why I asked if you’d ever swum in it Finnegan’s wake.
A friend gave it to me as a talking book – four CDs in all. I left it until I had time to do nothing but listen to the whole thing straight through – something that, in retrospect, I could have done at any time, just by taking a day off, but, you know how it is when what you’re doing each day seems like it has to be done on that day, which leaves no room for things that might change your world… Well in early February, an opportunity presented itself and I grabbed it with both hands, not realising the convulsive effect the book would have on me. On my second trip to Sydney in a month (this time driving rather than flying – flying is such an effort!), I took the Wake and a number of other discs. About three hours into the twelve hour journey southward, I put the first disc on thinking that I would sample it for a while. Within minutes I was hooked, and didn’t stop listening until I had played all four discs. By then I was on the Bells Line of Road – a mere 100 kilometres from my destination – which was actually Blackheath, in case you’re wondering why I would be trying to get to Sydney on that road. But, hey! Hold that thought. What sort of experience would you be having if you were trying to get to Sydney on a road that goes through the Blue Mountains?
The first thing I noticed about the Wake, the first time I tried to read it, way back in 1973, was Joyce’s idiosyncratic use of language. Having read his other two books, The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses, I knew that he wrote “proper English” if I can put it that way, so I concluded that he had written the Wake in an Irish idiom, which would be “proper Irish”. But it wasn’t long before he was using words without regard for their meaning, and sometimes just making them up, and I thought, Well, he is Irish – the Irish make a lot of stuff up – and a fair few stuff ups too (unlike, say, the Americans who always tell the truth and never do wrong.) This much I could cope with. It was sort of charming, you know…. quaint. But the thing that defeated me was, what I thought at the time to be the excruciating complexity of his sentences. Not that I’ve changed my mind on that, mind you. I had encountered this to some extent in Ulysses, which is renowned for, among other things, containing the longest sentence in the English language. But in the Wake you won’t find a sentence under three hundred words. Actually, I just made that up, but my point stands – if points, which are one dimensional, can exhibit the properties of two dimensional phenomena. As if the complexity of his sentences isn’t enough to put mortal readers off, Joyce also throws in digressions, asides, culdesacs and all manner of verbal sleights of hand that, if I can put it this way, that transform what might be described, metaphorically, as the landscape into a dreamscape. Being a poor reader – I can’t read any faster than I speak – I was mightily frustrated and eventually gave the book to someone I didn’t like, saying, Here, this is right up your alley. And so it was. I heard peals of laughter coming from his room for months afterwards. I often wondered what the fruit tasted like. All the same, I knew from the enthusiasm of other people for the book, that it had to have something special going for it, so when the opportunity to listen to it, rather than read it, came my way, I was on – or in… or something – but definitely not out. Though I was about to be bowled over.
My first impression, as I listened, was that he (the voice of the book) wasn’t saying anything coherent at all. Words, phrases, clauses, sentences, paragraphs (you can tell I had a good primary education) tumbled out upon tumbled each other tumbled sonorously hypnotically tumbling teasing cuddling wobbling until tickled laughing heaven sent burst asunder. I kid you not. At first I wasn’t sure if it was safe to keep driving. The intoxication of apparent nonsense was intoxicating – absolutely! And that’s not a tautology or an oxymoron. Actually, I must tell you about the very first time I came across that word. I was on a ten day hike across the Three Passes Track in the Southern Alps of new Zealand, reading a book in which the word was used, and I …. oops, should I be doing this – oh what the heck…. anyway, I asked the team leader, What’s an oxymoron – team leaders, as you would expect, know things like that. He asked me if I had studied at Oxford. Not yet, I said. Well, he replied, When you do you will be. It took me a while. Now back to intoxication. The extraordinary thing about what I was hearing was that even though it made no sense at all, it was absolutely riveting. I couldn’t take my ears off it. After about half an hour the thought occurred to me that surely this could not go on for four whole discs. And if it did, surely it could not sustain my interest. But I was having too much fun to be bothered wondering sensible sensibilities sensibly. So I just splashed arrollinground diving and soarleaping gleegigglingfully at how sillythingsooth the sound of the words worth more than daffodils – or daffy dills, for that matter – were. Perhaps you get the picture. Oh, and by the way, it does go on in that vein (or simthing somilar)for four whole discs, praise be the morning and the evening and everything between in both directions.
Are you still with me? It was about half way through the second disc that the penny dropped - or was it an apple – and if an apple, the apple that Eve gave Adam, or Isaac Newton’s proof of gravity – or even the Surly Pom of Avignon – that what I was listening to was actually a SONG!! Let’s put it to the test. Toast and marmalade for tea Sailing ships upon the sea aren't lovelier than you All the games I see you play... Get my point? Only there’s a bit more to James Joyce than Tin Tin (you can tell I don’t like post-modernism). I mean, it did hold my attention for nine hours. Which led me to the conclusion that this is not just a song, but an EPIC song. You know, Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, Beowulf, The Man from Snowy River. I kid you now. Another way of putting it might be that it is a cathedral rose window – perhaps in the style Miro or Dali rather than the medieval masters. In other words, it is not comprehended merely be reading or even hearing the words on the page.
There is a tradition called Bloom’s Day(16 June). Devotees gather in a pub in the very early hours, long before it is opened to the general public, and they begin reading Joyce’s Ulysses, taking turns and quaffing stout in between and almost certainly during; and they don’t stop until they have finished, long after the pub has closed. Change the venue. Change the Book. Change the epoch. And what have you got? The Hebrews gathered in a tent or the temple reading, nay, solemnly singing, Deuteronomy. This, I believe, is the way to attend Finnegan’s Wake. But not, surely, with the pious grimness of a reading of the Pentateuch. Indeed.
Go jollily. That’s what I always say – or would if I always said anything. It’s the meaning of life. And it’s what the Wake is about – I think. Just ask the laughing Buddha, or the man who “turned water into wine” – now there’s a story untold because told badly. As tribes gather to sing their continuity, or to contemplate the rose window of their cathedral, so gathers the tribe of Jolly to roll in the aisles, split their sides, laugh their heads off, die laughing, or, to put it simply, to express amusement by smiling and emitting loud inarticulate sounds. Well, compared with the figures of speech that preceded it, the dictionary definition of cachinnate is putting it simply. But I digress. The truly awesome thing about the Wake is that it gets as close as possible to being inarticulate sounds without actually being inarticulate at all, in any way, or anything like it – to put not too fine a point on it, if you get what I mean, or not. The words, most of them, are know to everyone. They have meanings. But the complexity of the sentences requires heroic concentration to retain the point that is being made, a task made nearly impossible by attention the components – words, phrases clauses – draw to themselves because they are so amusing. While the result is not incoherence, it is might as well be, because the thrust of what is being said is deliberately concealed by unrelenting mirth – not unlike the way a dream presents familiar sights that don’t make any sense at all – especially if remembered awake. A wake!? Oh, awake!
Like a liturgy, recited repeatedly for a whole lifetime, gradually letting participants into mystery, the Wake may be the book we should be reading on Blooms Day. We should probably expect that even a heroic effort to grasp the point of each sentence will not be enough. For, in the end, even a complete grasp of what every sentence says may actually conceal what the Wake has to offer. I suspect this because after listening to the whole thing twice, I began a third listening, shutting out the amusement at the surface, concentrating on the flow in order to grasp whole sentences. And I succeeded for several minutes, only to notice the fractal properties of the Wake. The mirth that is immediately seen in the components of sentences reappears when the sense of what is being said in several sentences taken together is grasped. If this is so, I think that there is little point in heroic effort, for even if one grasped the whole book as a single wave form, the shape would be as it is at the surface. The point would seem to be, therefore, just to enjoy, but enjoy in company – as in a wake. And let the enjoyment carry you into what words alone cannot express. Deeper, deeper as you go, and when you reach the end start again, and again. I wonder…
A friend gave it to me as a talking book – four CDs in all. I left it until I had time to do nothing but listen to the whole thing straight through – something that, in retrospect, I could have done at any time, just by taking a day off, but, you know how it is when what you’re doing each day seems like it has to be done on that day, which leaves no room for things that might change your world… Well in early February, an opportunity presented itself and I grabbed it with both hands, not realising the convulsive effect the book would have on me. On my second trip to Sydney in a month (this time driving rather than flying – flying is such an effort!), I took the Wake and a number of other discs. About three hours into the twelve hour journey southward, I put the first disc on thinking that I would sample it for a while. Within minutes I was hooked, and didn’t stop listening until I had played all four discs. By then I was on the Bells Line of Road – a mere 100 kilometres from my destination – which was actually Blackheath, in case you’re wondering why I would be trying to get to Sydney on that road. But, hey! Hold that thought. What sort of experience would you be having if you were trying to get to Sydney on a road that goes through the Blue Mountains?
The first thing I noticed about the Wake, the first time I tried to read it, way back in 1973, was Joyce’s idiosyncratic use of language. Having read his other two books, The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses, I knew that he wrote “proper English” if I can put it that way, so I concluded that he had written the Wake in an Irish idiom, which would be “proper Irish”. But it wasn’t long before he was using words without regard for their meaning, and sometimes just making them up, and I thought, Well, he is Irish – the Irish make a lot of stuff up – and a fair few stuff ups too (unlike, say, the Americans who always tell the truth and never do wrong.) This much I could cope with. It was sort of charming, you know…. quaint. But the thing that defeated me was, what I thought at the time to be the excruciating complexity of his sentences. Not that I’ve changed my mind on that, mind you. I had encountered this to some extent in Ulysses, which is renowned for, among other things, containing the longest sentence in the English language. But in the Wake you won’t find a sentence under three hundred words. Actually, I just made that up, but my point stands – if points, which are one dimensional, can exhibit the properties of two dimensional phenomena. As if the complexity of his sentences isn’t enough to put mortal readers off, Joyce also throws in digressions, asides, culdesacs and all manner of verbal sleights of hand that, if I can put it this way, that transform what might be described, metaphorically, as the landscape into a dreamscape. Being a poor reader – I can’t read any faster than I speak – I was mightily frustrated and eventually gave the book to someone I didn’t like, saying, Here, this is right up your alley. And so it was. I heard peals of laughter coming from his room for months afterwards. I often wondered what the fruit tasted like. All the same, I knew from the enthusiasm of other people for the book, that it had to have something special going for it, so when the opportunity to listen to it, rather than read it, came my way, I was on – or in… or something – but definitely not out. Though I was about to be bowled over.
My first impression, as I listened, was that he (the voice of the book) wasn’t saying anything coherent at all. Words, phrases, clauses, sentences, paragraphs (you can tell I had a good primary education) tumbled out upon tumbled each other tumbled sonorously hypnotically tumbling teasing cuddling wobbling until tickled laughing heaven sent burst asunder. I kid you not. At first I wasn’t sure if it was safe to keep driving. The intoxication of apparent nonsense was intoxicating – absolutely! And that’s not a tautology or an oxymoron. Actually, I must tell you about the very first time I came across that word. I was on a ten day hike across the Three Passes Track in the Southern Alps of new Zealand, reading a book in which the word was used, and I …. oops, should I be doing this – oh what the heck…. anyway, I asked the team leader, What’s an oxymoron – team leaders, as you would expect, know things like that. He asked me if I had studied at Oxford. Not yet, I said. Well, he replied, When you do you will be. It took me a while. Now back to intoxication. The extraordinary thing about what I was hearing was that even though it made no sense at all, it was absolutely riveting. I couldn’t take my ears off it. After about half an hour the thought occurred to me that surely this could not go on for four whole discs. And if it did, surely it could not sustain my interest. But I was having too much fun to be bothered wondering sensible sensibilities sensibly. So I just splashed arrollinground diving and soarleaping gleegigglingfully at how sillythingsooth the sound of the words worth more than daffodils – or daffy dills, for that matter – were. Perhaps you get the picture. Oh, and by the way, it does go on in that vein (or simthing somilar)for four whole discs, praise be the morning and the evening and everything between in both directions.
Are you still with me? It was about half way through the second disc that the penny dropped - or was it an apple – and if an apple, the apple that Eve gave Adam, or Isaac Newton’s proof of gravity – or even the Surly Pom of Avignon – that what I was listening to was actually a SONG!! Let’s put it to the test. Toast and marmalade for tea Sailing ships upon the sea aren't lovelier than you All the games I see you play... Get my point? Only there’s a bit more to James Joyce than Tin Tin (you can tell I don’t like post-modernism). I mean, it did hold my attention for nine hours. Which led me to the conclusion that this is not just a song, but an EPIC song. You know, Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, Beowulf, The Man from Snowy River. I kid you now. Another way of putting it might be that it is a cathedral rose window – perhaps in the style Miro or Dali rather than the medieval masters. In other words, it is not comprehended merely be reading or even hearing the words on the page.
There is a tradition called Bloom’s Day(16 June). Devotees gather in a pub in the very early hours, long before it is opened to the general public, and they begin reading Joyce’s Ulysses, taking turns and quaffing stout in between and almost certainly during; and they don’t stop until they have finished, long after the pub has closed. Change the venue. Change the Book. Change the epoch. And what have you got? The Hebrews gathered in a tent or the temple reading, nay, solemnly singing, Deuteronomy. This, I believe, is the way to attend Finnegan’s Wake. But not, surely, with the pious grimness of a reading of the Pentateuch. Indeed.
Go jollily. That’s what I always say – or would if I always said anything. It’s the meaning of life. And it’s what the Wake is about – I think. Just ask the laughing Buddha, or the man who “turned water into wine” – now there’s a story untold because told badly. As tribes gather to sing their continuity, or to contemplate the rose window of their cathedral, so gathers the tribe of Jolly to roll in the aisles, split their sides, laugh their heads off, die laughing, or, to put it simply, to express amusement by smiling and emitting loud inarticulate sounds. Well, compared with the figures of speech that preceded it, the dictionary definition of cachinnate is putting it simply. But I digress. The truly awesome thing about the Wake is that it gets as close as possible to being inarticulate sounds without actually being inarticulate at all, in any way, or anything like it – to put not too fine a point on it, if you get what I mean, or not. The words, most of them, are know to everyone. They have meanings. But the complexity of the sentences requires heroic concentration to retain the point that is being made, a task made nearly impossible by attention the components – words, phrases clauses – draw to themselves because they are so amusing. While the result is not incoherence, it is might as well be, because the thrust of what is being said is deliberately concealed by unrelenting mirth – not unlike the way a dream presents familiar sights that don’t make any sense at all – especially if remembered awake. A wake!? Oh, awake!
Like a liturgy, recited repeatedly for a whole lifetime, gradually letting participants into mystery, the Wake may be the book we should be reading on Blooms Day. We should probably expect that even a heroic effort to grasp the point of each sentence will not be enough. For, in the end, even a complete grasp of what every sentence says may actually conceal what the Wake has to offer. I suspect this because after listening to the whole thing twice, I began a third listening, shutting out the amusement at the surface, concentrating on the flow in order to grasp whole sentences. And I succeeded for several minutes, only to notice the fractal properties of the Wake. The mirth that is immediately seen in the components of sentences reappears when the sense of what is being said in several sentences taken together is grasped. If this is so, I think that there is little point in heroic effort, for even if one grasped the whole book as a single wave form, the shape would be as it is at the surface. The point would seem to be, therefore, just to enjoy, but enjoy in company – as in a wake. And let the enjoyment carry you into what words alone cannot express. Deeper, deeper as you go, and when you reach the end start again, and again. I wonder…
2008 February Bulletin
Greetings. We wish you interesting times – as …..
Chinese New Year approaches, and our Christmas is finally over. We have had a continuous stream of visitors since Boxing Day (which I am reliably informed is the day on which the first Christian martyr – St Stephen – got stoned. Stoned!??????? Oh, Stooooned – not, you know… stoned? Amazing what interesting bits of useless information find their way into these bulletins.)
We flew to Sydney for the opening of an exhibition in which John has some work. I have not included my account of it here because it’s over 1000 words. If you want to read about it, See the bolg post below.
You may not believe this, but I ventured recently into the murky business of sports commentary. I was so incensed by the stupidity of the secret monkey business that I had to have my say. See the blog if you are interested. It’s called Coming cricket or not and is about how India won the toss. It’s three posts after the Sydney trip.
There’s a new book out by the sociologist John Carroll called The Existential Jesus. So? Well, I know most people would think they are not interested, but once you know what it’s about I think you might be curious, at least. Here’s the link to the transcript of the program on which the book was discussed.
http://www.abc.net.au/rn/religionreport/stories/2008/2120659.htm#transcript
The choir has most of its material for Concert 2008. It’s quite different this year – no more church music. We’re doing a number of Opera Choruses, during which there will be slides to illustrate contemporary issues. For those who know about Opera, we are doing choruses from Dido and Aeneas, Nabucco, Carmen, Orpheus, and a piece in which the choir master has put music to a scene in Beckett’s Murder in the Cathedral. All very heavy stuff – even the Carmen piece (the Habanera) which is about playing with fire.
Finally, there’s pictures of the Sydney trip on Flickr. Don’t get excited, we didn’t do a systematic record of the trip. It was random shots here and there of this and that, some of which I photoshopped into… you know… um, art. Here’s the link if you want to look:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/
By the way, photos of our Wooli holiday will be up soon. So much to do, so few lives to do it in.
John is returning to TAFE this year to do the Advanced Diploma in Ceramics. Did I mention that he got a credit in his diploma? All the rest were distinctions. Thought I’d mention it again, just in case … you know …
Happy year of the Rat!
Bliss the day!!
Chinese New Year approaches, and our Christmas is finally over. We have had a continuous stream of visitors since Boxing Day (which I am reliably informed is the day on which the first Christian martyr – St Stephen – got stoned. Stoned!??????? Oh, Stooooned – not, you know… stoned? Amazing what interesting bits of useless information find their way into these bulletins.)
We flew to Sydney for the opening of an exhibition in which John has some work. I have not included my account of it here because it’s over 1000 words. If you want to read about it, See the bolg post below.
You may not believe this, but I ventured recently into the murky business of sports commentary. I was so incensed by the stupidity of the secret monkey business that I had to have my say. See the blog if you are interested. It’s called Coming cricket or not and is about how India won the toss. It’s three posts after the Sydney trip.
There’s a new book out by the sociologist John Carroll called The Existential Jesus. So? Well, I know most people would think they are not interested, but once you know what it’s about I think you might be curious, at least. Here’s the link to the transcript of the program on which the book was discussed.
http://www.abc.net.au/rn/religionreport/stories/2008/2120659.htm#transcript
The choir has most of its material for Concert 2008. It’s quite different this year – no more church music. We’re doing a number of Opera Choruses, during which there will be slides to illustrate contemporary issues. For those who know about Opera, we are doing choruses from Dido and Aeneas, Nabucco, Carmen, Orpheus, and a piece in which the choir master has put music to a scene in Beckett’s Murder in the Cathedral. All very heavy stuff – even the Carmen piece (the Habanera) which is about playing with fire.
Finally, there’s pictures of the Sydney trip on Flickr. Don’t get excited, we didn’t do a systematic record of the trip. It was random shots here and there of this and that, some of which I photoshopped into… you know… um, art. Here’s the link if you want to look:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/
By the way, photos of our Wooli holiday will be up soon. So much to do, so few lives to do it in.
John is returning to TAFE this year to do the Advanced Diploma in Ceramics. Did I mention that he got a credit in his diploma? All the rest were distinctions. Thought I’d mention it again, just in case … you know …
Happy year of the Rat!
Bliss the day!!
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Sydney Visit January 2008
We flew to Sydney for the opening of an exhibition in which John has some work. He was selected to represent the North Coast Institute of TAFE in a state wide exhibition of graduating ceramics diplomats. We visited our friend Elfriede in an aged care hostel as soon as we arrived. As on previous occasions, she did not look like she was enjoying the tele when we arrived, but her look of thunderous denial transformed into sheer delight and utter surprise when she recognised us. We took her to lunch at the local soccer club. Her appetite for Chinese has not diminished one bit. She offered to carry our bags for the rest of our trip, and back to Mullumbimby as well, but we, regrettably, had to decline her offer. We left her at the hostel and headed to the Blue Mountains, where we stayed with Steve, a potter friend of John’s (Trish was off rowing in Tamworth.) Dinner was grilled snapper and mango salsa. Yuuum. Next morning it was back down to Gomorrah. I remember thinking as we trained past some of the ugliest urban clutter imaginable (well, in this country, anyway) that the people who live there must think they have no choice. And I thought of our friend in the hostel (who really does not have a choice) yet who keeps herself looking like she’s ready to meet that new man who will sweep her up in his arms and…. and I realised that she does not live without hope. Next stop was the hotel we booked on the internet the night before we left. The picture was of one of those grand old palaces on Broadway. When we got there, the hotel was actually in the building next door. You can guess the rest, but at least the room was clean. John thinks it is probably a brothel. We did a lot of walking in Sydney – in the RAIN!! Did someone say drought a few months ago? Gosh, if only we had one day to dry the washing! Anyway, after taking the train to Bondi Junction we found ourselves in my old stamping ground – where I lived in my misspent youth, before I went soldiering. I really could not recognise the place, but the food we had in the Oxford Street Market was really nice. From there we walked to a gallery at Charing Cross (hey, we’re still in Sydney at this point – not London!) where John made a new best friend who sooooooo wants his work. Actually, I saw some work there (2D) that I really liked, but I remembered just in time that we don’t have any spare wall space. Back to the hotel and on to the Clay Workers Gallery in Glebe for the opening, on the way to which I was startled to find myself walking along William Henry Street, another place of misspent youthfulness (as distinct from youth) which is mentioned in one of last year’s blog entries. The opening went like a Harley… (remember this one from last time I used it?)... better than a Triumph. John’s work was right in the centre of the very small room with the work of six other graduates from across NSW. I liked the work of two of the others; the remaining four were clearly competent and probably very good – they had to be to be there – but did not grab me. One of them in particular, stuff about mermaids, made me homesick for Byron Bay. Um, actually that would be more sick than home, and I don’t mean sick the way a twenty-something would. The artiste arrived fashionably late and before she got through the door John said “Here comes the mermaid.” Yep, it were her. We were joined at the opening by Steve and Suzie, another potter friend, also from the mountains, with her husband and son who is starting this year at East Sydney Tech – now the National Art School – where I spent three weeks in that misspent youth alluded to earlier. We all adjourned to one of the plethora of restaurants in Glebe for a post show knees up. Good food, goof fun, good night… well, not so fast, because afterwards we walked back to our hotel through the most astounding variety of night life. I thought about the bleak back yards we looked into on the train and realised that what I was seeing in Glebe-by-night was probably what people who live in the Grimlands see themselves as being part of. To some extent they would be right. Living in Mullumbimby means that we could only ever be tourists in the fleshpots of Gomorrah. Frankly, we have the better deal, but I could handle living nearby in the mountains – back to which we headed the next morning, to stay with Suzie and Don, who, being political animals, were still partying post-election. We were joined for dinner by my friend Penny, who on account of John Howard’s inflation rate, is now probably Tuppence or maybe Threepence or even Sixpence. We dined on a delicious beef ragout followed by melt-in-the-mouth meringues. Yahoo!! Mountain Due!!! Next day it was back down the mountain and off to the Art Gallery of NSW. We deposited our bags in a locker at a backpackers joint – Central railway station no longer has lockers as a precaution against terrorism – and went to China Town for Yum Cha – um, that should be Yum Yum Cha. We took the train to St James and walked through one of the many underground walkways in which we had encountered buskers, some of them really good – one of them astonishing – and from there across Hyde Park, past the Archibald fountain and St Mary’s Cathedral, both places I frequented in that aforementioned youth, to the Domain, where a lone soap box haranguer lectured himself on some obscure issue; and, finally, we arrived at the Gallery, guarded by heroic horsemen of romantic antiquity, where we took in the Sidney Nolan Retrospective. Wow!! And other shows, during which I realised that merely being a tourist in Gomorrah has its drawbacks. The taxi driver who took us the very long way to the airport to catch our return flight lives in Ocean Shores half the year and Sydney the other half. The conversation was a revelation. I can’t remember what about, but it was. Our plane was delayed by a storm, and when we did finally get on board, we were delayed a further 90 minutes because they couldn’t get fuel – the depot had been struck by lightning: so they said, anyway – I didn’t believe them – I reckon it was because all departures had to be rescheduled. We arrived at the Gold Coast with not enough time for the plane to return to Sydney before the curfew. You may have heard that the same thing happened again in Sydney a couple of weeks later and the passengers, instead of being accommodated in a hotel were turfed out onto the street for the night. Jet Staaaaaaaaar!! Oh and Macquarie Baaaaaaank – who own Sydney airport!! Ah, capitalism.
2008 January Bulletin
Ra-a-aaaain!
Raaaain comin’ down on the caaaane,
And the roooooves of the town!!
That’s from a song…
Ummm, Hello there…
about … well, rain; written on a farm near Innisfail, the wettest town in Australia – and possibly the world if you live there – in the late seventies, by the members of a theatre troupe making a big splash in North Queensland at the time. I wonder what happened to them – and to the rain that was so ubiquitous, all along the east coast in those days, yet has been so sporadic of late that the most recent rain event seemed almost apocalyptic. Indeed, it did bring flooding to many places all around us, but we were not directly affected by it. In fact, we had the luxury of actually enjoying it – waking up at night, hearing the drone of heaven on the roof and slipping back into sleep with a smile, remembering childhood; bringing out warmer clothing than we would normally wear at this time of the year and thanking the heavens, literally, that it wasn’t the usual 40 degrees for Christmas; and occasionally during the day… did I say day... it went on for daze… just sitting and listening to it, and at other times just sitting listening to the silence when it wasn’t there; and listening to the frogs and crickets; and remembering again and again that this is how it used to be; and wondering… dreaming of cyclones. (see The celebration of Cyclone Dreaming No 2. 10 May 2007)
One of John’s nieces with her husband and three kids – eldest starting high school in 2008 – stayed with us for four days from Boxing day. A good time was had by all, going fishing, making things out of clay, eating, more eating, and finding – perhaps making – room for even more food. We did a bit of driving – a trip to Nimbin; another to the Cold Roast (Gold Coast for those no up on your Strine) with the kids swapping cars as we went. The favourite game was I Spy With My Little Eye. I won’t regale you with the details here, but if you can believe that there would be anything worth saying about I spy and another game called Buzz, see my blog.
http://twogreytoes.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html
A number of people have told me there’s nothing on the disc of the concert. Trust me, there is. The problem is incompatible technologies. It happened to us once on a CD player that we bought in the mid nineties – old !!??!! technology – but I had forgotten about it, because we no longer use a CD player to play CDs. We use a DVD player. When we went to replace our old player we were advised to buy a DVD player instead – much cheaper than the “genuine part” if I can put it that way. So if you have a DVD player, pop the disc in as though you are going to watch a movie on your TV. The disc will play through your TV speakers. The disc will probably also work in your car player, though that may also depend on how old the car (or player) is.
Hope your year is better than any previous.
Bliss the day!!
Raaaain comin’ down on the caaaane,
And the roooooves of the town!!
That’s from a song…
Ummm, Hello there…
about … well, rain; written on a farm near Innisfail, the wettest town in Australia – and possibly the world if you live there – in the late seventies, by the members of a theatre troupe making a big splash in North Queensland at the time. I wonder what happened to them – and to the rain that was so ubiquitous, all along the east coast in those days, yet has been so sporadic of late that the most recent rain event seemed almost apocalyptic. Indeed, it did bring flooding to many places all around us, but we were not directly affected by it. In fact, we had the luxury of actually enjoying it – waking up at night, hearing the drone of heaven on the roof and slipping back into sleep with a smile, remembering childhood; bringing out warmer clothing than we would normally wear at this time of the year and thanking the heavens, literally, that it wasn’t the usual 40 degrees for Christmas; and occasionally during the day… did I say day... it went on for daze… just sitting and listening to it, and at other times just sitting listening to the silence when it wasn’t there; and listening to the frogs and crickets; and remembering again and again that this is how it used to be; and wondering… dreaming of cyclones. (see The celebration of Cyclone Dreaming No 2. 10 May 2007)
One of John’s nieces with her husband and three kids – eldest starting high school in 2008 – stayed with us for four days from Boxing day. A good time was had by all, going fishing, making things out of clay, eating, more eating, and finding – perhaps making – room for even more food. We did a bit of driving – a trip to Nimbin; another to the Cold Roast (Gold Coast for those no up on your Strine) with the kids swapping cars as we went. The favourite game was I Spy With My Little Eye. I won’t regale you with the details here, but if you can believe that there would be anything worth saying about I spy and another game called Buzz, see my blog.
http://twogreytoes.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html
A number of people have told me there’s nothing on the disc of the concert. Trust me, there is. The problem is incompatible technologies. It happened to us once on a CD player that we bought in the mid nineties – old !!??!! technology – but I had forgotten about it, because we no longer use a CD player to play CDs. We use a DVD player. When we went to replace our old player we were advised to buy a DVD player instead – much cheaper than the “genuine part” if I can put it that way. So if you have a DVD player, pop the disc in as though you are going to watch a movie on your TV. The disc will play through your TV speakers. The disc will probably also work in your car player, though that may also depend on how old the car (or player) is.
Hope your year is better than any previous.
Bliss the day!!
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Link to the Wharf Revue
Link to the Wharf Revue 2007
The Sydney Theatre Company puts on something called the Wharf Revue each year. In 2007 a federal election was looming when the production was staged. Listen, and die laughing. Of particular interest is the section by “Paul Keating”. Click on this link , ot copy and paste it to your web browser. It runs for an hour.
http://www.abc.net.au/cgi-bin/common/player_launch.pl?s=rn/summer&d=rn/summer/2007/audio&r=sts_09012008_2856.ram&w=sts_09012008_28M.asx&t=Monday%2009%20January%202008&p=1
The Sydney Theatre Company puts on something called the Wharf Revue each year. In 2007 a federal election was looming when the production was staged. Listen, and die laughing. Of particular interest is the section by “Paul Keating”. Click on this link , ot copy and paste it to your web browser. It runs for an hour.
http://www.abc.net.au/cgi-bin/common/player_launch.pl?s=rn/summer&d=rn/summer/2007/audio&r=sts_09012008_2856.ram&w=sts_09012008_28M.asx&t=Monday%2009%20January%202008&p=1
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