Archive for November, 2014

I was appalled when I learned of Morrison’s move to restrict asylum seekers in Indonesia from applying to resettle in Australia. Here’s my response, in a piece published in the e-journal On Line Opinion.

”In the place of compassion, empathy and understanding, qualities that make us truly human, the basest of all emotions have anchored themselves in the collective heart…”

http://www.onlineopinion.com.au/view.asp?article=16892

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I was troubled this morning to read of the 10,000 people who lost their lives in the UK in 2013 as a result of fuel poverty. Fuel Poverty Action is taking action. ”They’re targeting Energy UK, the lobbyists for the tax dodging, huge profit making, Big Six energy companies.” http://www.ukuncut.org.uk/blog/guest-blog-no-more-deaths-from-fuel-poverty/ And  I was troubled for a second time in the face of the injustice that has caused citizens to take to the streets of Ferguson; in a nation where the police are in service of corporations and not the citizenry. https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=482387718569407 And at risk of bathos, here in Australia, our government has just axed the budget of our much loved and non-commercial ABC and it’s sister television station SBS, both known for their cutting edge news and documentaries, their efforts to present balanced and alternative views, and their coverage of serious issues.

All this news caused me to pause. I knew instinctively that all three dreadful bits of news were connected. I needed to do a reality check. I had to remind myself of why these things are happening and happening in Western democracies. I thought again of that fabulous book Democracy Inc by Sheldon S Wolin. I share with Chris Hedges a passion for Democracy Inc. for it explains what is happening to democracy and why. It isn’t a light read. But sometimes things are too damn important to treat lightly. The more of us who take the trouble to give the book a go the better, for it does more than offer an explanation. The book occupies the ground otherwise too easily labelled conspiracy theory and what is going on behind the scenes is in fact a conspiracy and not theoretical at all!!

Here’s the way I see the con.

Reality check:

1/ The Sting. The GFC was caused by the banks who were then bailed out by governments with tax payers’ money. Government is now in debt to the banks. Citizens pay the banks (again) via austerity measures. Bankers are laughing all the way to their own front doors. Read Matt Taibbi’s Griftopia for a punchy and entertaining portrayal of what went on.

2/ The Second Sting. Behind the veil of budget deficit every small fragment of social democracy that can be privatised is being privatised. Once privatised the operating systems will be corporatised (asset stripped and so on) and services rendered both expensive and inadequate. The minimum will be provided, for the maximum profit. For an insight into how corporations operate as vulture capitalists read Antony Loewenstein’s Profits of Doom.

In the corporatised scenario citizens often pay for services that used to be provided for by government. Citizens also pay for the same services through their taxes, which go into the government outsourcing coffers to pay the new corporate service providers. So we pay for the same service twice. And the corporations are dizzy with delight.

3/ The Third Sting is the corporatisation of government itself. Imagine that our elected representatives are not representing us at all. They have been swallowed by the corporate sector. They have been bought, groomed, placed or otherwise corrupted to serve the interests of Capital and not the people. They wear false cloaks and false smiles. They hold our babies and steal our wallets. The best encapsulation of this sting is the revolving door, where individuals move back and forth from plum jobs in government to plum jobs in the corporate sector.

Studies have shown that the Corporation is psychopathic The hallmark of a psychopath is a distinct lack of empathy. As an entity a corporation is also a breeding ground for psychopaths. For people who lie, who deceive, who con, who cheat; heartless bastards whose capacity for cruelty is vast, whose capacity for blithe indifference equally vast.

It’s been six years since the GFC turned the screws on social democracy and created this latest horror show. Dystopia is upon us and many are accusing their governments of blatant fascism. We can and we must fight this beast. Not by following the ruthless cruelty of organisations like Islamic State, which are both corporate democracy’s nemesis and mirror, ( in effect a Fourth Sting fomented by corporate democracy to engender widespread fear and tighten security and surveillance laws). Instead, we must protest and campaign and educate and keep on shining a spotlight on reality. To that end I will from time to time hold up my own thin candle and shout.

My serialised novel, Asylum, started life as a sequel to my memoir, Lovesick. I hadn’t wanted to write a sequel but many readers were demanding to know what happened next. About three chapters in I decided to fictionalise the story. This meant creating plotlines based on, but not strictly tied to, reality. It took about a year to produce a draft and I thought of submitting but then started to have deep misgivings. My protagonist Yvette Grimm was a bit too much like me and the story seemed to meander on, reaching a conclusion that felt flat. So I set the draft aside, reasonably happy never to look at it again. Yet the draft nagged me. Asylum seemed a good title, with its double meaning well worth exploring, but how?

Months later a friend from Perth posted on facebook a link to a book. It was Profits of Doom by Antony Loewenstein. I borrowed a copy from the library and read it from cover to cover in two days, then promptly bought a copy for my mum. Profits of Doom led me to explore the plight of asylum seekers and I soon found many facebook groups, pages and friends, a plethora of online commentary, and much activism around the country. I began to wonder how I could contribute.

It was a gnawing sense of injustice that caused me to return to that draft of Asylum. I axed half the text, ripping into the narrative scene upon scene until the barest bones were left. I set about making visa overstayer Yvette Grimm an artist. I managed to work Profits of Doom into a scene. Things were progressing well but towards the end the narrative still lacked intensity.

That was when a friend, Georgia Matthey came round for dinner and after I had outlined how things were in the fictional land of Asylum, she began to describe a recent event in her life. Seeing the potential straight away, I grabbed paper and pen and wrote down her vignette and with her permission used it to shape the climax of Asylum.

The resulting story still contains much that has its basis in my own life, yet now carrying the theme of seeking asylum, Yvette juxtaposing her experiences with those of asylum seekers being held in detention. It is my sincerest wish that the story both entertains and contributes to the larger dialogue on the treatment of asylum seekers in Australia.

(I also co-ordinate homestay respite holidays for asylum seekers on bridging visas under the auspices of Home Among the Gum Trees.)

Ten more days of dial up speed before the start of the new download cycle. Can I endure it? Facebook keeps stuffing up. I can’t follow links to articles unless I’m prepared to wait an age for the page to load. Cheers Telstra for your bargain basement plan only good for those who haven’t gotten past email and to whom the google maps man (aka by boyfriend and much loved touring partner) is as unreal as a flyer saucer. Why ever did I sign up to this measly plan?

Meanwhile, on my PC, two years and a month past warranty, I keep getting the blue screen of death. I feel an imminent technological meltdown and yet I restart and type blithely on, hoping all will be well when I know full well it will not. I’m playing brinkmanship with technology. If it happens before a solution is found I do have a back-up plan. I’ll dust off the dinosaur loaded with XP, trust there is still some life in it.

Meanwhile all the 20s are meeting in Brisbane, Gs and Bs and heaven knows who else, and maybe they’ll talk seriously about hot skies of death, auguring the imminent climate change meltdown. Or will they go blithely on, more concerned with the global economy, setting silly targets and hoping all will be well when they know full well it will not. Noble posturing on the parts of America and China, when no-one can breathe in Bejing, and America is busy blasting more of the Appalachians to smithereens for its filthy filthy coal. As for Australia’s political crowd, they’re in dial-up speed with the miners.

Brinkmanship with a dying PC is one thing. Our leaders are playing brinkmanship with nature. If the meltdown occurs before a solution is found there is no back-up plan. The dinosaurs are dead.

 

Red-PoppyRemembrance Day and I cottoned on late to this fact – so I wanted to pay my respects, belatedly, to all who have lost their lives in war. Especially to those who have not lost their physical lives but their psychological wholeness, returned from horrors stripped of well being, doomed to suffer flashbacks and hyperarousal and numbing, hair trigger fight/flight moments, angry outbursts, despair, overwhelm and depression. Veterans who share a life narrative with victims  of domestic violence and child abuse, tortured captives and asylum seekers.

Yes, I will remember you and feel for you. I know it’s hard.

Peace.

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I should have done something sooner. That’s what my neighbour said. Best nipped in the bud. A good hard slap across the face will shut her up. Said she never had any trouble in the playground after that. But my best friend’s husband was right about me. I’m a coward. And cowards cower. They don’t punch or slap. I found that out about myself in my old school playground. Now I was a teacher with a demon of a boss who had never outgrown the playground thug.

I was working at a new school. The kids were friendly and polite. The principal had vision. And I didn’t mind that my classroom was a leaky old hut that was sinking on its stumps. I had a pleasant view of rolling pasture.  I made friends with the other teachers. Soon it was obvious the principal had taken a shine to me. And that was probably how it all began.

First it was a dismissive wave of her hand. Or a bollocking when I forgot to return the text books. I would swallow my humiliation. She was, after all, my boss.

She drew me into her warped little world, made me her ally and included me in her plots and schemes against her enemies. She even warned me off making friends with the entire geography department who were all loose cannons according to her. I can’t believe I never made a friend in geography. I love geography.

I should have done something when she stormed into class and yelled at me in front of thirty kids. I froze where I stood with the whole class staring until she left, slamming the door behind her. She apologised later but it’s hard to trust an apology when you know she’ll do it again.

I should have done something when my class of year twelves used my lessons to complain about the way she treated them. You should be the head, they’d said. We like you. Which was nice to hear but it didn’t change a thing.

I should have done something when she locked all the resources in the departmental  storeroom and kept the only key. She’s nuts, I thought  at the time and my union rep, who had a key for everywhere, helped me steal paper and exercise books from other departments. He had a weird way of dealing with things.

I did complain to the deputy principal and was told all department heads were the same and to take no notice.

Maybe I should have done something more but only the kids would believe me. Or more likely no-one wanted to hear it.

So I left. I left not before I slapped her – that was never going to happen. I left before she slapped me.

It proved a wise move. She left too, not long after, for slapping my successor across the face.

That slap had my name on it.

The thing my best friend’s husband doesn’t know is that cowards don’t just cower. They also walk away. And that takes courage.