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Sunday, January 27, 2008
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Category: News and Politics
Today it's January 27th. Yesterday was Australia Day & I almost made it downtown in time for the speeches & sausage sizzle, but not quite. Right now I'm having a few thoughts about how we use the flag in Australia these days. I know there was some debate a few years back about changing it - that was during my 'absentis Australis' period so I missed out on the drama then. I got back here just in time to see the Cronulla thing going down. Yeah that made you feel proud huh! Anyway, back to the flag. I understand that many people are quite forward in their patriotism & that's fine. Maybe I'm a closet conservative (shudder) but I get the shivers seeing folks taking on the flag as apparel, draped over the shoulders like a Superman cape as if the national symbol embodies a personal empowerment. In those cases, the empowerment appears to stem from a lethal combination of alcohol & testosterone. Be as proud as you want, I don't think donning the flag is necessary to promote your Australianism. During my US residency I'd visit Disneyland frequently & 'spot the Aussie' was always a very easy game to play. We are a very identifiable bunch.
I had my 'flag moment' when it caught my eye during a visit home several years back. Never mind the location, what got to me was the color of the sky behind it. There's no other blue like that anywhere. Both sky & flag went together very well & spoke volumes to me that day. You want to celebrate being Australian? Just take a deep breath to clear your head of jingoism, have a good look around & be sure to look up as well. If that doesn't make you feel good about being Australian, then nothing will.
As for changing our flag, I'm open to it within reason as long as we maintain the 'blue'. Maybe shift the Union Jack to the back...
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Sunday, November 11, 2007
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Category: News and Politics
Well the world has always been a tense sort of place, even before 911. But since that event we've seen the some pretty intense adjustments to our freedom in the wonderful western world. The US Patriot Act has been matched pretty well here in Australia with some tough new policies on the monitoring, detention & prosecution of supposedly threatening people. I recently came upon the following quote from Frank Zappa. He spoke with incredible prescience... "The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it's profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way, and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theatre."
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Sunday, October 28, 2007
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Well there's an election looming in Australia in November. Among other things I was struck recently by statements by our current Prime Minister. John Howard remains in abject opposition to a national apology to Australia's Indigenous population for the misjudgments & ill treatment they have endured since the beginning of white settlement over 200 years ago. I felt compelled to write the following letter. October 27th, 2007 The Hon. John Howard MP Prime Minister Parliament House Canberra, ACT 2600 Dear Mr Howard, I feel compelled to comment on your recent statements regarding reconciliation with Australia's Indigenous people. It seems laudable that at long last you intend to use a referendum to officially recognize their role in the nation's heritage. However I have some misgivings. To quote you Mr Howard, we Australians hold a "deep yearning in our national psyche" to resolve the issue of reconciliation. However, you remain steadfastly opposed to a national apology, insisting that such a step would "only reinforce a culture of victimhood & take us backwards." In a further quote you maintain that "In the end I could not accept that reconciliation required a condemnation of the Australian heritage I had loved & owned." The latter statement bothers me. It seems cynical that on the one hand we are encouraged to look with pride upon the Australian experience of the last 200 odd years while at the same time denying the mistakes & injustices perpetrated by our forbears. Consider that these injustices, though made up of individual acts, were enacted in the light of social norm & acceptable behavior. There is something false about finding pride in & enjoying the rewards & privileges of our heritage but then denying ownership of any earlier act or attitude that now carries a stigma. Your proposal to recognize the Indigenous population in the Constitution sounds like a fine idea however I see little substance in it. Without the formal recognition & acceptance of errors & misjudgments made by Australia's white generations, that is, without saying "sorry," those errors & misjudgments together with the attitudes that bred them, will only be perpetuated, Consequently the topic of the mistreatment of Australia's Indigenous peoples is not just an element of distant history. The attitudes that engender marginalisation & discrimination continue into our generations Mr Howard. The fact that Aboriginals weren't considered Australian citizens until the referendum merely forty years ago speaks for itself.As recent as the 1960's & 70's I recall attitudes of "breed some white into 'em" & rumors of poisoning. I can understand your discomfort at any tarnishing of our Australian heritage. But that heritage isn't worth a damn if earlier errors & misjudgments are permitted to continue. I can only speculate that your refusal to say "Sorry" is motivated less by conscience than by mere pride or perhaps, the fear of possible reparation claims. sincerely, Stephen Lomas
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Wednesday, September 05, 2007
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Category: News and Politics
So... George Bush is in Sydney this week for the APEC Conference. The entire city has been cut up & cut off with massive security precautions... fences & barriers everywhere. Glad I don't live there.  So... my old mate Earle Qaeda wrote a song for the event. He's a great lyricist but too lazy to come up with a melody. He suggests humming something like Peter Allen's "I Still Call Australia Home." Here ya go... Go To Dallas lyrics by Earle Qaeda 2007 George don't come to Sydney, this ain't your sort of town We're afraid that your company, would only bring us down And look at our Prime Minister, we've already got a clown. George why not try Dallas, next time
George stay away from Berlin, they've seen your type before They're done with world conquest they won't do that any more Well that's what they said but can we really be sure George please go to Dallas, next time
But Sydney's no good George, how can I begin You'd find us too enlightened you just wouldn't fit in And we've seen your work in Baghdad & we think it's a sin We'd prefer you did Dallas next time
Well maybe there's Tokyo even you could walk tall there Or stroll around Beijing & breathe deep that good air You'd love what they did in Teianimin Square Or perhaps, go to Dallas, next time
Still there's somewhere for you George now this world's turned so cold Dallas is where your destiny could unfold Drive slow round Deily Plaza & the Grassy Knoll Yes please go to Dallas An open limo in Dallas George please go to Dallas next time
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Sunday, April 15, 2007
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Category: News and Politics
 We've been told that Australia's long term resident of Guantanamo Bay, David Hicks, will be heading home soon; maybe in a matter of weeks. Not home to freedom after 5 years of inhuman detention & abuse, but to a token 9 month sentence in an Australian jail. Back home to a gag order that prevents him talking about his treatment by the US authorities & the Australian government that abandoned him for so long. We should not believe for one minute that David Hicks' case, & it's implications for Australian rights & freedoms, has been resolved. That won't happen until David is able to give his own account of his activities & subsequent treatment - in an open, honest forum, not in the theatre of a Guantanamo military tribunal. Only then can we determine the true value of being Australian.
The following is reprinted from www.fairgofordavid.org
Former Prime Minister, Malcolm Fraser, writes:
Some people believe the Hicks saga is over. Some people believe the sentence was too light because he was a terrorist anyway. Some believe he was treated harshly and without justice. Others believe that what has happened over the last week was cooked up between governments to minimise the political damage to the Australian Government through this election year.
If the fraudulent Military Commission process in the Hicks case had not been concluded, the Australian Government would have lost even more than it has lost. If Hicks had been given an extremely heavy sentence, the Government would have lost more again. If Hicks were released before the election and were able to speak personally about events in Guantanamo Bay, the fallout for the Government would be considerable. So, it is the best result for the Government, and I do not believe by accident.
The Military Commission is controlled, in the first instance by the US military, in reality by the United States Government. Despite Australia's silence and compliance in matters of fundamental policy, whether in relation to Iraq or the 'War on Terror', or the conduct of affairs at Guantanamo Bay and the Military Commission trials themselves, up to this point the US Government had done nothing at all to repay Australia for its unseemly acquiescence.
Both governments will say: Hicks has had his day in court, he pleaded guilty, he has been justly treated. What we really need to concentrate on and to understand is that Hicks did not have a day in a court. He had a day in a fraudulent tribunal, controlled by a special law, which the Americans would never dare to apply their own people. A US citizen would be free to take a ruling from such a tribunal to the US Supreme Court, which would find that the Military Commission does not provide justice.
What we have seen is the end result of unremitting and 'medieval' pressure on Hicks. A pressure increased by threats of a long and continuing sentence in jail, by what Hicks would have believed to be a guaranteed guilty verdict, regardless of whether he were guilty or innocent, because that is what the system provided for. If he were to plead guilty, he was offered a way out. That also means that the particular evidence against Hicks did not have to be revealed. Remember that the more serious charges against him were struck down for lack of evidence. After everything that had gone on, Justice Susan Crawford could not have struck down all charges. She let the least important ones stand. The guilty plea meant the evidence or its sources did not have to be revealed, or the means by which it was collected made clear.
Hicks' guilt or innocence is an open question. A plea of guilty was extracted from him by the pressure exerted upon him -- and by the fear of that pressures continuing without an end in sight. What man would have pleaded otherwise?
I do not know if he is guilty or innocent, he was certainly wild and foolish, but that is not the point. The point is justice, the Rule of Law and due process. If our Government is prepared to allow any one of its citizens to be sacrificed on the altar of expediency, if our Government demonstrates that it is not really concerned for justice, for a fair process, for one person, then none of us knows whether circumstances might arise in which the same lack of care, lack of concern, will be exhibited in relation to ourselves.
The rule of law, its equal application to all people, is the most fundamental principle underpinning our democracy. In some ways it is more fundamental even than the right to vote. A government that breaches that principle so clearly, so plainly, so blatantly, a government that asserts that the Military Commission has provided a legitimate day in court, is a government that on this issue stands condemned.
I am convinced that there was a political settlement to get rid of the Hicks case, cool it, calm it, wash it out of our hair; it has become too hot to handle. David Hicks has been silenced until after the Australian election. What has happened has stained Australia's reputation. It will take a different example and a different concern to repair the damage -- damage that we should not forget.
This article was first published in Australians All. http://www.australiansall.com.au/
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Friday, March 16, 2007
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Category: Life
If I think hard about it I can see a mop haired kid. Gangly - I was always tall for my age. Dressed in shorts, striped pullover type shirt - I think it was called a Jumbo shirt. Was that the style or brand? I don't know. I was very young remember.
Shoes? Maybe sandals but bare feet most of the time if I could get away with it. That was a problem when heading for the beach. Where we lived Botany Bay was at one end of the street. At the other lay a broad playground of football fields, park, swamp & bush. Thick bush, bisected by a creek.
Each destination held its' own special fascinations. Getting to the beach involved darting across a very busy street. Cars weren't the only danger. On either side, the lawn of the nature strip concealed "bindi-eyes," a low grassy plant with nasty, tiny thorns that would snag the unwary as surely as a speeding car. Especially if you weren't wearing shoes. You could keep a sharp look-out for them as you ran, but laying there like a landmine they would get someone from time to time. Valuable minutes would be wasted sitting there, pulling the thorns from your feet as you beseeched your playmates to wait for you.
Then came the clay strip, about a hundred feet wide. Hard packed pink clay in the sun or thick & puddled after rain. The clay formed a base for the remnants of the sand-dunes that before any urban development, used to stretch inland from the beach, all the way to the creek & beyond. Though sparse & thinning out, the dunes presented a great landscape to play & adventure in. You could literally lose yourself as a pirate, cowboy, indian or soldier. But on the clay your "war games" could take a slightly too real twist for bare feet. Here & there lurked the remnants of World War Two barricades - short lengths of wood protruding just two or three inches above the ground that used to support lengths of barbed wire - "trip-wire". The last line of defense against a once expected Japanese invasion. Young kids always run. It was worse than the bindi-eyes to stub your toe on these posts. It was worse still to encounter a rusting scrap of barbed wire that surfaced in the clay or dunes after lying buried in the sand ten years or more. I'm sure the Japanese hadn't planned on landing barefoot.
Things became more acute out there, running between or over the dunes. With no houses to block the sound, with the wind blowing right, you could hear the planes flying in & out of Kingsford-Smith Airport, a few miles to the north. There was intent competition to listen to the distant rumble or whine & identify its' source as a Vickers Viscount or Bristol Brittania, a DC-3 or DC-4, a Lockheed Constellation or.... I always had a hard time picking a DC-6 from a DC-7.
And there was the wide. blue expanse of the bay with its' waves rolling onto the yellow sand. A fine backdrop to the long playground of beach. The beach itself was bordered along its entire length by a concrete seawall, topped with an iron pipe fence, painted red but always rusting. Port Botany wasn't built at that time so the only ships we saw were distant tankers, miles away across the bay at Kurnell. Captain Cook had first set foot in Australia over there they told us. Somewhere to the left of the flame that glowed atop a tower at the oil refinery. I remember someone also told us that if ever that flame went out then the whole refinery would blow up. I assumed that to be true & consequently spent a lot of time at the rail of the sea-wall wondering what such an event would look like. Heck, maybe it was true,
We grow up, grow older, move away & expect things to change. Still, feeling nostalgia implies a loss, a desire for things to remain the same. Last time I looked my old house was still there. So was the refinery across the bay. But the landscape of barren clay & sand dunes - a landscape of adventure & imagination, has been replaced by flat, level grassed parks & parking lots. A long, tumbled border of rocks keeps the water & sand clear of the lawns, replacing the old grey sea wall with its' long, smooth curves that stretched as far as you could you think to the north & south. The runways of the airport now encroach well into Botany Bay & the roar of jets is almost constant, no matter which way the wind is blowing. All these new planes sound the same.
I counted the single digits of my childhood along that beach. The weight of time first hit me there when I was about seven, maybe eight. I was with some friends & we had taken advantage of school being out to get to the beach early in the morning. Normally we couldn't get there early enough to watch the fishermen haul in their nets. It was our desire to catch a glimpse of an octopus or a baby shark; maybe even get hold of one that we could show off at home, or scare some girls with. I remember then thinking how we had been performing this ritual during every school holiday that I could remember. Just for a moment I wondered how long it might go on. Seven years, eight years... when do you actually grow up & stop doing this? Some day maybe I'll tell you about the creek at the other end of the street.
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Saturday, October 21, 2006
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Category: News and Politics
(I lifted this from MichaelMoore.com. I don't think Mr Moore or either of the Tillman brothers would object. I lived in the US for almost 30 years & I know that the United States, its' people & ideals, are a lot better than what we are seeing portrayed in Iraq... Stephen) Friday, October 20th, 2006 'After Pat's Birthday' ...by Kevin TillmanKevin Tillman joined the Army with his brother Pat in 2002, and they served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. Pat was killed in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. Kevin, was discharged in 2005 / Truthdig It is Pat's birthday on November 6, and elections are the day after. It gets me thinking about a conversation I had with Pat before we joined the military. He spoke about the risks with signing the papers. How once we committed, we were at the mercy of the American leadership and the American people. How we could be thrown in a direction not of our volition. How fighting as a soldier would leave us without a voice.. until we get out. Much has happened since we handed over our voice: Somehow we were sent to invade a nation because it was a direct threat to the American people, or to the world, or harbored terrorists, or was involved in the September 11 attacks, or received weapons-grade uranium from Niger, or had mobile weapons labs, or WMD, or had a need to be liberated, or we needed to establish a democracy, or stop an insurgency, or stop a civil war we created that can't be called a civil war even though it is. Something like that. Somehow our elected leaders were subverting international law and humanity by setting up secret prisons around the world, secretly kidnapping people, secretly holding them indefinitely, secretly not charging them with anything, secretly torturing them. Somehow that overt policy of torture became the fault of a few ..bad apples.. in the military. Somehow back at home, support for the soldiers meant having a five-year-old kindergartener scribble a picture with crayons and send it overseas, or slapping stickers on cars, or lobbying Congress for an extra pad in a helmet. It's interesting that a soldier on his third or fourth tour should care about a drawing from a five-year-old; or a faded sticker on a car as his friends die around him; or an extra pad in a helmet, as if it will protect him when an IED throws his vehicle 50 feet into the air as his body comes apart and his skin melts to the seat. Somehow the more soldiers that die, the more legitimate the illegal invasion becomes. Somehow American leadership, whose only credit is lying to its people and illegally invading a nation, has been allowed to steal the courage, virtue and honor of its soldiers on the ground. Somehow those afraid to fight an illegal invasion decades ago are allowed to send soldiers to die for an illegal invasion they started. Somehow faking character, virtue and strength is tolerated. Somehow profiting from tragedy and horror is tolerated. Somehow the death of tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people is tolerated. Somehow subversion of the Bill of Rights and The Constitution is tolerated. Somehow suspension of Habeas Corpus is supposed to keep this country safe. Somehow torture is tolerated. Somehow lying is tolerated. Somehow reason is being discarded for faith, dogma, and nonsense. Somehow American leadership managed to create a more dangerous world. Somehow a narrative is more important than reality. Somehow America has become a country that projects everything that it is not and condemns everything that it is. Somehow the most reasonable, trusted and respected country in the world has become one of the most irrational, belligerent, feared, and distrusted countries in the world. Somehow being politically informed, diligent, and skeptical has been replaced by apathy through active ignorance. Somehow the same incompetent, narcissistic, virtueless, vacuous, malicious criminals are still in charge of this country. Somehow this is tolerated. Somehow nobody is accountable for this. In a democracy, the policy of the leaders is the policy of the people. So don..t be shocked when our grandkids bury much of this generation as traitors to the nation, to the world and to humanity. Most likely, they will come to know that ..somehow.. was nurtured by fear, insecurity and indifference, leaving the country vulnerable to unchecked, unchallenged parasites. Luckily this country is still a democracy. People still have a voice. People still can take action. It can start after Pat's birthday. Brother and Friend of Pat Tillman, Kevin Tillman visit MichaelMoore.com
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Tuesday, September 26, 2006
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Why Tumbarumba? I got this question a lot when I moved back to Australia in 04 after spending many years in California. It rarely came from Tumba locals; usually from folks who had never been there. Well, I begin my reply, gazing as I do over my two lower paddocks. Its very early spring & despite the near-drought theyre showing some good green though it aint going to last. Below my property the creek runs heavily, hidden by masses of gum trees. Beyond there the town eases up the hill opposite, giving way to the forested slopes of Tumbarumba Hill. They should call it a mountain. Sure looks big enough. Why not? If its late afternoon I dont see a sunset. That happens over the hill behind me. Before me here the town & Tumba Hill turn softer, golden then bronze as the reflected sunlight slowly fails. Overhead the sky deepens its blue. If there are any clouds theyre often big fluffy cumulus, showing all buttery as they head east over the ranges. Way down to the south & east I can sometimes see the snow on the higher range. Well its pretty way out there. I dont need it too close. It used to snow in Tumba all the time, so the long-timers say. I saw two days of flurries when I first got here but that was it. Maybe next winter. Anyway, the light is getting dim & there is still a pronounced chill in the air. Comes up like someone turned a switch, as soon as the sun gets down behind the trees. Time to stop messing around on the block. Get the dog & head inside. Hope I have enough firewood up at the house... Why Tumbarumba? I could give you a couple of good reasons but really, I like the name. *** I first found Tumbarumba in the 5th Grade. You know the drill... Library period... find a book, read or at least pretend to.... get educated, or at least pretend to... I picked up a harmless looking book; a little hardback collection of Australian verse & stories. As the minutes dragged I remember letting the pages flip as I waited for something to grab my attention. Then something did - The Integrated Adjective. The poem is a humorous look at the assimilation of the word bloody into Australian language. Hardly an epic but a classic just the same, at least in this hemisphere. The poem was a goldmine to a bored eleven year old - & his mates. I remember the glow the Librarian took on when she saw her students suddenly become so engrossed in literature - for the best part of two weeks the book was clutched by a minimum of two pair of grubby hands at a time as the readers stared with amazement at the easy use of the forbidden word.. And that was the point of the poem - the sprinkling of the adjective bloody within typical Australian speech while at the same time (the 1950s had barely passed) it was generally regarded as a cuss word, unfit for decent company & young children. But there it was in print, over & over; the word that you would not dare utter within earshot of your parents or teachers. Well there were several other words too but this poem was about the inoccuous bloody. Well someone must have blabbed. Next Library period we filed in, spied the empty spot on the bookshelf & our prize sitting proudly in a glass fronted cabinet - secured by lock & key. Such frustration. Such a callous act - I hadnt finished memorizing it! It was decades before I found the poem again - Sometimes known as The Integrated Adjective & sometimes as Tumba Bloody Rumba. by John O'Grady (1907-1981) (aka Nino Culotta Theyre a Weird Mob) I was down the Riverina, knockin' 'round the towns a bit, And occasionally resting with a schooner in me mitt, And on one of these occasions, when the bar was pretty full And the local blokes were arguin' assorted kind of bull, I heard a conversation, most peculiar in its way. For only in Australia you would hear a joker say: "Where ya bloody been, ya drongo, haven't seen ya for a week, Yer mates been lookin' for ya since he came up from the creek. 'E was lookin' round at Ryan's, and round at bloody Joe's, And even at the Royal where 'e bloody nevergoes". And the other bloke says "Seen 'im? Owed 'im half a bloody quid. Forgot to give it back to him, but now I bloody did Could've used the thing me bloody self. Been off the bloody booze, Up at Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin' kanga-bloody-roos." Now the bar was pretty quiet, and everybody heard The peculiar integration of this adjectival word, But no-one there was laughing, and me - I wasn't game, So I just sits back and lets them think I spoke the bloody same. Then someone there was interested to know just what he got, How many kanga-bloody-roos he bloody went and shot, And the shooting bloke says "Things are crook - the drought's too bloody tough. I got forty bloody seven, and that's good e-bloody-nough." And, as this polite rejoinder seemed to satisfy the mob, Everyone stopped listening and got on with the job, Which was drinkin' beer, and arguin', and talkin' of the heat, Of boggin' in the bitumen in the middle of the street, But as for me, I'm here to say the interesting piece of news Was Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin' kanga-bloody-roos.
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