I Quit!

Well, this is the end.

Not the end of everything, you understand. Just the end. Or, rather, an end.

As most of you know, I have spent the past three years working (or, if I'm honest, undertaking a not always convincing facsimile of working) in a convenience store in order to make a contribution to the household budget while my Dearly Beloved and I candidated to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church. But now that we have completed our Exit Year (and, presumably, have completed the assessment requirements!) and are awaiting placement in permanent ministry positions, the time has come to draw a close to certain things. And one of those things has been the job at the store.

So, I have resigned. Actually, even if I hadn't resigned, I would have gone anyway, on account of the fact that the store has been taken over by another retail chain and is currently closed for refurbishment. Owing to the business model employed by that chain, it is unlikely that I would have secured a position with the new owners; and I didn't fancy trying to get a shift at one of my former employer's stores which had not yet been taken over - having done it once, there is no way I was going to work a graveyard or whatever other unwanted unpleasant shift they thought they could squeeze me into. Besides, my Dearly Beloved and I were determined that, this year, I would be spending Christmas Day with the family, not at work.

So, no more of that for Yours Truly. But since this has been a not insignificant part of my life, and since my escapades at the store have formed a large slice of this blog's content, I thought I would mark the end of this particular era by sharing a few thoughts.

Employees. The first thing I want you to do is to urge you all to change your attitude to all the people who work behind the counter at convenience stores and other related retail outlets. I have worked in a lot of different environments, from factories to corporate offices, but in few of them have I encountered an environment in which the work was as repetitive, tedious, physically exhausting, and mind-numbingly dull. When you add to that the fact that the workload (in terms of customer flows) can switch from inertially boring to frantically busy in a matter of seconds; and the fact that an enormous burden of responsibility rests on convenience store employees in terms of OH&S, security, and corporate responsibility/reputation, then the convenience store represents one of the most demanding and least rewarding workplace environments I have ever encountered. So, please, next time you go to a convenience store, no matter how angry, busy, existentially angst-ridden, or otherwise pissed off with the world you may be, remember that there is someone who is in a much worse position than you - namely, the poor sod behind the counter who has to serve you. So try a little kindness - or, if not that, a little understand. Okay?

Customers. The first thing I want to say is that 95% of the people I encountered were basically decent human beings: just working stiffs trying to make their way in the world like the rest of us. I know I have written more than one post taking the piss out of customers and their foibles; but that is only because they were the exception not the rule. It is the exceptions that make for interesting stories, as any tabloid hack can tell you; the people and situations I wrote about were not representative of the whole. But having said that, let me also say this: that being a convenience store clerk sure brings you into contact with an especially rich cross-section of human society (particularly when you work nights or graveyards on the weekends), and much of that humanity is profoundly broken and limited. It reminds you how inadequate your own experience is, and how vast a world of human reality exists beyond the confines of your own life. And you come to appreciate how sadly constrained so many others' horizons are, a realisation that does not fill you with a sense of your own superiority, but with a lament for the inadequacy of the human condition. So, in the long run, I think you learn compassion. Yes, you also learn to deploy dark humour, sometimes as a coping mechanism, and sometimes as a necessary corrective to human stupidity. But I think you also learn to respect the struggle that is the "daily grind" for so many people, whether because of the circumstances they find themselves in, or because of their own limitations.

Relationships. Most people are used to forming relationships through work, not just because you have to operate co-operatively with other people, but because there is something innately human that seeks out the other in order to make a connection. Indeed, some work relationships become truly significant, leading to anything from life-long friendship to marriage. But that's not the case with the convenience store clerk. Because the staff are all employed on a casual shift basis, and are rarely all together in the same place (shift-changes and store meetings being about the only time more than one clerk is there at once) the bonds that tie other workplaces simply don't exist. To be sure, there were long-standing employees at the store with whom I did form connections; but with the changes of management and staff turnover that are endemic to the convenience store environment, these connections are easily sundered. Indeed, when the store closed, and after I had worked my last shift, it seemed to me that we had all become like leaves scattered before the wind; leaves that had been none-too-securely attached to the workplace "branch" to begin with. And yet, oddly, this lack of connection was made up for by an attachment to the "regulars" one encountered on most shifts, the people who lived locally and who came into the store on a frequent basis. After a while, you got to know their names; and, through conversation, learned a little about their lives. Granted, a small number of "regulars" came with a degree of "nuisance value" attached; but the bulk were, in fact, people you looked forward to seeing. They either helped mark the passing of the hours because their metronomic habits ensured they always came to the store at the same time; or, more importantly, they were the ones who offered consolation after your shift had been spoiled by some aggressive, impatient, arrogant twat. In many ways the "regulars" were a reminder that, even in the most sterile of environments, meaningful human relationships are possible.

I'm sure there's more I could tell you, but I think that's about it for now. I hated the job and every minute I was compelled to perform it; but I am also grateful for the income it provided, and for the people who meant that it wasn't the dehumanising nullity it might otherwise have been. At the end of the day, I guess all I can do is mark it down to experience and hope to learn the lessons it provided. And breathe a big sigh of relief that it is now a chapter in my life that is well and truly over!

And, since this post is about endings, I now announce that this post also represents the end of this blog. Like the job at the store, it has, I think, served its purpose. So while I won't delete this blog, it is highly unlikely that any further posts will be listed here. So thank you for listening and commenting and for coming along on the ride together. I hope you join me on my other blog The Still Circle.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in days of old moved heaven and earth, that which we are we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts made weak by time and fate but not in will; to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. (Alfred, Lord Tennyson - "Ulysses")

For What It's Worth...

Why, if I think it's great Australia now has a female Prime Minister, do I feel so heartsick?

Sure, the coup - and let's not be pedantic about this, it was a coup, albeit a political rather than military one - was conducted with swift, sure precision, the kind of clinical surgical strike the American military only wishes its so-called "smart" weaponry could achieve. There was no long, drawn-out saga of innuendo and undermining, leaving behind great tearing wounds of bitterness and public disillusion. We quite literally went to bed one night with Kevin Rudd as PM and woke up the next morning with Julia Gillard as our new Prime Minister.

I don't for a moment believe that Gillard didn't know what was happening. Even if only indirectly, she would have been aware of the numbers tilting against Rudd as his popularity declined and the ALP "brand" became ever more on the nose with the electorate. Maybe she even tried to warn Rudd, perhaps obliquely at first and then directly, that the forces of deposition were gathering against him. Either way, Gillard is too experienced and assured a political operator not to have seen what was coming and to have positioned herself accordingly.

But that isn't what has got me feeling as though our country has taken one almighty step backwards. True, the fact that a politically astute woman has shown herself to be as ruthless and unsentimental as "the boys" doesn't give me much confidence that our political culture specifically - or our social culture generally - has matured much. Which doesn't mean that I don't think Gillard will be a competent, perhaps even excellent, PM. But I suspect the circumstances of Gillard's ascent to the Prime Ministership tell us that while women are able to play "the boys" at their own game, the fact remains that it is still "the boys" game that is being played. No new territory has been staked out, no new paradigm has been put into place.

Still, I kind of expect that from Gillard. She is, afterall, a product of the same cynical, mercenary party "machine" that has produced her factional contemporaries within the ALP. So why am I feeling like I want to curl into a foetal ball and start keening for my country?

In part, I think it's because I'm angry with Kevin Rudd. In party political terms, Rudd was a relative outsider, having been "foisted" upon the federal parliamentary ALP via the party's Queensland administrative wing and his connections to the Queensland Premier's office. This meant that he largely lacked either a factional power-base or cross-factional support - as is the case with most parliamentarians, who do their time as footsoldiers in the factional machine before being given the nod to step up to the bright lights of elected office. But the fact of Rudd's outsidership meant that he had a great opportunity to change the political narrative of our country, both in terms of the ALP specifically and the wider political process generally.

Remember when Rudd was Leader of the Opposition, and when he first came to power? Back then, he articulated a cohesive political-social framework founded in a set of principles that spoke to the yearning of the Australian public for a new kind of politics: a politics of ideas, a politics of engagement, a politics of the "big picture" whose vision extended beyond the horizon of the three year electoral cycle. For the first time in a long time, Australians glimpsed a vision of the political process that transcended both the cynical "consensus pragmatism" of ALP factionalism, and the conceited "natural party of rule" arrogance of the Coalition and its neo-classical ideologues.

For the first time in a long time, Australians began to hope for something more.

But Rudd blew it. Once in power, and despite an impressive catalogue of initiatives that included affirming the Kyoto climate change protocols and the much-delayed apology to indigenous Australia, Rudd lapsed into an autocratic, presidential style of leadership that brooked no dissent and heard no other points of view. Decision making was limited to a restricted coterie of senior parliamentarians (the so-called "gang of four", which ironically included Gillard and Treasurer - now deputy PM - Wayne Swann), as well as a select group of staffers appointed by Rudd himself. Moreover, stories soon began to leak out about personality flaws in Rudd that presaged problems for the future: his frenetic, almost insane addiction to work; his short fuse and temper tantrums; his apparent insensitivity to the human and personal needs of those around him.

None of which was going to threaten Rudd while he was so spectacularly popular. The alienated parliamentary colleagues and factional mandarins couldn't move against a leader who so obviously had the nation's confidence. But it was in this fact that the seeds of disaster lay. For instead of using his outsider status to bring change into the ALP - and, by extension, the whole political culture of Australia - Rudd refused to persuade his colleagues to back his vision, instead demanding obedience and loyalty. Had he done so, once things turned sour he could have drawn on depths of goodwill and support that were previously absent. Indeed, it seems that Rudd's own consciousness of his "outsider" status provoked a sense of personal insecurity that drove him toward authoritarianism and the hostility from others which it engenders. Instead of being able to draw on the support of others, he found the knives were drawn against him.

And those knives came out for two reasons. The first was the "reform obsession" which seemed to characterise the Rudd government. Like the Whitlam government before it, Rudd tried to push through a raft of reforms at every conceivable level of policy, from industrial relations to climate change, from tax policy to health services. And like the Whitlam government, the Rudd government found itself swamped by the logistics of trying to implement reform across such a wide spectrum of policy areas. Which, combined with the relative inexperience of most of Rudd's ministers, and the corresponding inexperience of their personal staffers, resulted in some monumental policy disasters. Instead of tackling a couple of major projects at a time and getting them attended to in detail, the Rudd government tried to do everything at once - and paid the penalty for its poor judgement.

But the second cause of Rudd's downfall lay in Rudd himself. As noted above, rumours about some of Rudd's less attractive personality traits began to circulate earlier in his Prime Ministership. But when these were just "quirks" of the man himself, they were - electorally speaking - more or less harmless. But when they manifested themselves on the policy stage, they were disastrous for Rudd the politician, and gave the signal to his factional enemies to start organising the numbers.

Perhaps the most egregious example was Rudd's handling of the Trading Emissions legislation. Having tried and failed to get the legislation passed on more than one occasion, Rudd should have explained to the Australian public that the parliamentary process had not enabled the government to pass its legislation, as a consequence of which, the government would go to the next election seeking a clear mandate for both houses of parliament so that the legislation could be put in place. However, and in an almost inconceivable display of petulance, Rudd did the policy equivalent of taking his bat and ball and going home, declaring unilaterally that there was no community consensus on an emissions trading scheme, and delaying any legislation until at least 2012.

A response that only served to disillusion the public who had believed Rudd's image of "big picture" commitment, and who now not only questioned that commitment, but began to wonder whether his personality traits made him fit to be PM. The polls began to plummet, the knives were sharpened, the numbers counted. Rudd's continued refusal to realise his peril and change his ways only hastened the end. To borrow a classical allusion, Rudd started off looking like Australian politics' equivalent of Marcus Aurelius, only to end up its Tiberius: an isolated, ill-tempered, suspicious, and mistrusted individual whose unpopularity was largely of his own making.

And, ultimately, I think it's the rather pathetic humanity lying at the core of this tragedy that makes me feel the way I do. The almost unbearable sight of Rudd making his all-too-late appeal for support based on his record the night he realised the chickens had come home to roost; the gut-wrenching agony of watching him realise and struggle with the extent of his failure at the next day's media conference; the indescribable pathos of Rudd sitting in the backbench while parliamentary colleagues and opponents alike poured out their crocodile tears (a spectacle made all the more poignant by the presence of a delegation from Vietnam in the chamber). All these sights had me thinking: well, we could have one in a different direction in this country, but we blew it. Rudd blew it, the ALP blew it, the whole Australian electorate has blown it.

Maybe I'm being melodramatic. Maybe I'm being sentimental. Maybe I'm being a fool. But there's something within me that says, no matter how good a PM Julia Gillard turns out to be, there was a moment here for the seizing which, collectively, together as a society and a body politic, we have let slip through our fingers. And I think we're all going to be the poorer for it.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Opportunity: that which comes disguised as hard work in order that it not be recognised by most people. (Ann Landers)

Let The Phoney Sentimentality Begin!

Yes, it's that time again. Once every four years, the world puts everything on hold and goes ape over the spectacle of the Olympic Games. Well, almost everything. The business of making money takes a holiday for no-one; indeed, during the Games, it probably even goes into overdrive.

And of course, the megacorps are pulling out all the stops in order to pull our patriotic heartstrings and bleed us dry of our hard-earned. All of a sudden, foreign multinationals are proudly Australian and propping every geriatric in a military uniform they kind find in front of a camera in order to assure us that they, too, share the ANZAC spirit. Naturally, this is all about celebrating the festival of the Games and supporting our guys and gals in Beijing; however, if you could see your way to buying one of their burgers, or patronising one of their shopping centres, or taking off in one of their planes, that would be nice, too.

Not that Australian companies are beyond this cynical artifice, either. Suddenly, every golden-haired glamour girl and pretty boy in a swim suit or track lycra is the quintessential Australian, representative of all our hopes and dreams - and, naturally, we're all behind them because sporting prowess is really the pinnacle of any nation's evolutionary index. So of course we'll buy all their sponsors' products, because doing less would hardly be patriotic, would it?

If you think I'm being overly cynical, watch the television broadcast of the Olympics for even a brief period, and you'll see what I mean. If the patently parochial (and frequently mindless) commentary isn't enough to do your head in, the mushy, saccharine blandishments of the commercials will have you gagging on your vomit even as you reach for the cyanide pills. No kidding, if I see one more ad about how these faceless, exploitative corporations really do care about all the Mums and Dads and kiddies out there, and how they are sooooooo grateful for all our support over the years, I'll throw myself off the top of my stack of large-print Das Kapital editions.

To be fair, it's not all bad. One of the two public broadcasters in Oz has somehow managed to snaffle secondary broadcasting rights to the Games - which is to say they've been assigned all the team and non-swimming, non-track events the commercial broadcaster thought too obscure or insufficiently ratings-friendly to cover. But I quite like this. It means you get to see stuff that otherwise would be ignored, and the level of patriotic hyperbole is kept to a bearable minimum. Except when they, too, have to cut to a commercial break so their "broadcast partners" can flog their overpriced - but eminently Australian - wares.

Oh well, it will be all over in a few days, and then we can get back to business as usual. In the meantime, if you listen very carefully, beneath the roar of the crowds and the screeching platitudes of the sports journalists, you'll notice another sound, a kind of background noise to the whole Games. It's the sound of cash registers ringing.

K'ching!

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote of the Day: Capitalism - survival of the fattest. (Anonymous)

It's All About Me

I don't know if it's because I'm becoming old and grouchy, or - and this seems a much more likely reason - because in my charming naivety I've not previously noticed, but I can't get over how astonishingly inconsiderate and selfish people are in their behaviour toward one another. I don't mean the big picture stuff: oddly enough, as far as I can tell, when it comes to responding to an appeal, or helping people in serious trouble, most folks are generous to a fault. Nor do I want to suggest that people are becoming "more" selfish than they used to be, or that selfishness didn't happen in "my day" (whenever that was). Rather, it seems that it's in the arena of the daily that people just don't seem to give a toss, that they live in some kind of insular bubble that says: I'm the most important reality in the world, and screw anyone and anything that's an inconvenience or which stops me going about my day the way I see fit.

Let me give you some recent examples to illustrate my point.

Last week, my Dearly Beloved and I visited Canberra for a week, partly for pleasure and partly for a conference. We were taking a flight on one of those ultra-low-cost airlines, so, not sure if we'd get anything to eat on the flight itself, we decided to grab a bite before boarding the plane. Or, more accurately, my Dearly Beloved decided we'd have McDonalds as opposed to actually eating food. Being the controller of the family purse-strings, she stood in line to place our order and pay, while I found us a table in the cramped and overcrowded eating space. I eventually snaffled a corner table, and while idly awaiting my Dearly Beloved's arrival with our "food" (I always regard this a provisional term when it comes to McDonalds), I noticed a family of people sitting at the table next to me tucking into what seemed to be a ten course meal. There were bags and cartons and paper wrappings and plastic cups everywhere. Eventually, they completed their repast, and as one, got up and left.

Now, you'll notice I said "got up and left", NOT "tidied up their rubbish, put it in the bin, and left". Because I'm not kidding, they left their table strewn with the detritus of their meal; not merely the bags and wrappings and stuff, but half-eaten burgers, spillages of chips, and cups with congealing ice-cream products still clinging to the sides. And what made this laziness all the more astonishing was the fact that they were sitting right next to the rubbish bin! Seriously, they could have literally reached out and dumped their junk in the bin without having to stand. But no, instead of doing the right thing, they decided that either one of the staff or the next person who wanted to use a table could do their cleaning up for them; whatever they were doing, or wherever they were going, was more important than a simple act of courtesy.

This sort of thing really pisses me off. It's one of the reasons I hate eating in junk food restaurants and shopping centre food malls: the crappiness of the food aside, you have to hunt around endlessly for a table because too many lazy, thoughtless cretins have left it strewn with their garbage. Hell, the waiting staff can clean up after me; or, if the staff are too busy, then the next customer can get their hands dirty removing my leftovers. Me, I'm too busy and important to put my rubbish on a tray and take five steps out of my way to the bin.

Don't you just long to grab these people by the shirtfront and introduce them to the concept of extreme retributive violence? Just like the two women my Dearly Beloved and I encountered at the War Memorial in Canberra during our aforementioned visit to the nation's capital. We were on the alcove overlooking a vast hall filled with various fighters and bombers when the PA announced that a brief show about Australian bomber crews in WWII would be displayed on the wall opposite; the alcove on which we were standing was the viewing platform. So we settled down on some nearby seating to wait, accompanied by other people who likewise sat or stood behind the seats or to one side. There was plenty of viewing space, and two screens on the wall opposite: there would be plenty to see, I thought to myself in anticipation, especially given the alcove's safety barrier was made of thick but clear glass that enabled you to view the show.

And then along came these two women. And because they wanted the best view in the house, they came and stood right in front of us! Only two steps to the left, and they would have had a clear view of everything, and left our visual field unimpeded; but no, other people simply didn't enter into their calculations. They wanted to see the show, and screw anyone else inconvenienced in the process. Moreover, had my Dearly Beloved and I stood in order to see the show, we would have blocked the view of the people next to us, and thus set off a chain reaction of inconvenience. As a result, we were stuck with three quarters of one screen, with the other completly blocked.

I don't want to make a mountain out of a molehill, but it's this kind of daily insensitivity and selfishness that I have begun to notice lately. And I've come to the conclusion that it's because it occurs in the realm of the day-to-day that people think that's it's not important, or can't adversely affect others, or that if it does, then the person on the receiving end should just "get over it". In other words, it's a direct consequence of the "whatever" culture in which self-absorption is a virtue and any objection to imposing upon others an unjustifiable assault on the individual's right to do as they please.

And yet this kind of stuff does matter, because it's precisely the kind of thing that can destroy a person's day, or at least annoy them to such an extent that they then become pre-occupied and do something thoughtless themselves, or have an accident, or get into a pointless argument. In other words, each act of selfishness, however trivial, is like a stone dropped into a pond: the ripples spread out from the event, affecting other aspects of life, and meeting and adding to the potency of other ripples from other events. What starts off as a careless, throw-away event come become something much more significant.

So my plea is simple: next time you're in a food court or fast food joint, please, please, please put your rubbish in the bin. Not only will you be making the environment for everyone more pleasant, you'll potentially be saving yourself from the the experience of having your shirtfront gathered up in angry fistfulls, followed shortly thereafter by a good nutting or a knee to the bollocks.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Laziness is riding a bike over cobblestones just to knock the ash off a cigarette. (Les Dawson)

Knock (Or At Least Ring The Bloody Bell) And Ye Shall Enter!

What is it with people and locked doors?

At the service station where I put in an occasional appearance behind the counter, we have a security policy that requires the front door to be locked for the overnight shifts. This means that customers wishing to enter the store must be admitted by the console operator on duty; and if the operator isn't immediately available, there's a bell the customers can push to attract their attention.

So...picture the scene at night. The door is locked. A customer has just filled up with petrol and is approaching the store to make payment. The operator (Yours Truly) is out of sight stacking the shelves. The customer encounters the locked door. Do they ring the bell to get my attention? Do they read the sign on the door asking them to ring the bell if the door is locked?

I wish! No, upon encountering the locked door and realising that it's locked, customers decide that the best method of getting my attention is to yank harder on the door. And not only do they pull harder on the door in their attempts to open it, they also try to push it open with as much vigour. The result is that my attention is not attracted by the sound of the bell, it's drawn by the screeching of the shop door as its being yanked fairly off its hinges!

So I ask again: what is it with people and locked doors? Why don't they realise that if the door is locked, trying to force it open is not a viable option? And why do they never see the sign on the door asking them to ring the bell if the door is locked? Honestly, it's the architectural equivalent of thinking that speaking IN A SLOW AND LOUD VOICE will magically enable foreigners to understand English!

Mind you, I don't know why I am so surprised, as this is a familiar phenomenon to me. When I worked in the CBD, I was in an office which had locked front doors (partially as a consequence of the nature of the work; partially because of the not infrequent depredations of the local squatters). It also featured a sign (right next to the door handle) asking people to ring the bell to get the attention of staff. But did it make a blind bit of difference? Not likely! People still pushed and pulled the door with all their vim and vigour, as if their lives depended on it!

I sometimes wonder whether or not being in a public place makes the average citizen a complete bonehead. It's like another phenomenon I've observed, especially in cinemas and theatres and the like, wherein people insist on gathering in large, obstructive groups right in the middle of the doorway. Maybe it's some kind of environmental gene that switches on and renders the possessor thereof unable to do anything other than the one thing that will cause maximum inconvenience to others. Likewise with the locked door; maybe some malevolent DNA strand whispers in their biochemical ear and says: Okay, Joe: this is the bit where you leave your brains in the car. That's a locked door up ahead; just ignore the sign asking you to behave rationally, and instead yank on the damned thing like a demented idiot.

Sigh...maybe I should just resign myself to the proposition that it's an inevitable aspect of human psychology that, when confronted by the unexpected, people will insist on trying to make the expected occur, instead of rationally assessing the situation and responding to it on its own terms. Or maybe the simple, brutal fact is that people are idiots.

Except me, of course. Anyone who maintains a blog must have their head screwed on right...

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Logic is the art of getting it wrong with confidence. (Joseph Krutch)

Much Ado About Cricket

When Michael Clarke captured Ishant Sharma's wicket to give Australia an unlikely victory in the Second Test in Sydney, I thought: India didn't deserve that. They had batted gallantly and fought hard to stave off defeat, and had come agonisingly close to succeeding. Then, in five remarkable balls, Clarke took three wickets and snatched victory from the jaws of a draw.

Since then it appears that all hell has broken loose. There are several issues involved, and in the present frenzy, it is difficult to separate them; but it is imperative that this separation occurs, otherwise the dispute will not be resolved, and the damage it is doing to cricket will not be healed.

First, there's the issue of umpiring. There is no question that, in this match, the Indians suffered a number of poor umpiring decisions, at least some of which adversely impacted upon their fortunes. They have a right to feel aggrieved. But it is also true that copping bad decisions is part and parcel of cricket: there isn't a person who has played the game, at whatever level, who hasn't suffered from a bad umpiring decision. But along with the disappointment that naturally results from such incidents, you also - hopefully - learn to accept that umpires are human; and that being human, they from time to time have bad games and make bad decisions. In other words, you learn to swallow your sense of moral outrage, knowing the odds are pretty good that you'll eventually benefit from a bad decision made in your favour.

With all due respect, it appears that the Indian team, and the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) have forgotten this cricketing truism. Feeling aggrieved is one thing; accusing an umpire of incompetence (or is this really a coded accusation of bias?) and demanding the removal of that umpire is something else altogether. For starters, prior to the introduction of the international umpiring panel, touring the sub-continent was proverbial for suffering at the hands of sub-standard umpiring; the Indians are frankly the last people who should be pointing the finger on this score. More importantly, the last three wickets which Michael Clarke captured had nothing to do with bad umpiring; and plenty of Indian wickets fell as a consequence of poor shot selection. More than bad umpiring, the Indians contrived at their own demise.

If this weren't bad enough, the International Cricket Council's (ICC) craven submission to the BCCI's demands that one of the two umpires who officiated in the Syndey Test be removed has only made matters worse. Umpire Steve Bucknor has now been effectively tried and convicted of incompetence, without the benefit of either due process or an appeal - unlike the Indian player accused of racism (see below). For an umpire, who is supposed to be sacrosanct in the respect they are afforded, to be treated in such a shabby manner by the game's administrators, only reinforces the message that if you complain loud and long enough, and if you have the financial muscle to back your complaints, you'll get your way regardless. The ICC might call this pragmatic - I call it gutless.

Next, there is the issue of poor sportsmanship. On this point, the Indians are on much more substantial ground. Frankly, the conduct of the Australian players in the immediate aftermath of their victory was pretty deplorable. Sure, they had every right to be jubilant; but the essence of sportsmanship is being able, in the moment of your victory, to acknowledge the efforts of your opponents and pay them due regard for the competition they provided. The scenes of the Australian players carrying on like drunken teenagers and urging the crowd into transports of triumphalistic ecstasy was distasteful to say the least. If you were coach of a team of 10 year olds who behaved in this fashion, you'd bang their heads together and tell them to behave themselves - I don't see why adults should be exempt from this requirement. Compare this with the grace and dignity with which the English player Andrew Flintoff consoled the Australian players after their narrow loss in the Second Test of the 2005 Ashes series, and the response of the Australians in this latest match was, by contrast, shabby in the extreme.

Then there's the issue of sledging, which also comes under poor sportsmanship. The Australians are notorious sledgers; they are by no means the only ones who sledge, but they are the ones most closely associated with this practice. Let me be clear: sledging is not gamesmanship, the skill of gaining a psychological advantage over your opponent - it is personal abuse, pure and simple. And it seems to me that the Australians long ago forgot the difference between the two. Passing personal remarks and insulting comments is not the same using your skill as a player or adopting a personal approach that intimidates the opposition into surrendering the psychological initiative. Putting opponents off their game by abusing them takes neither skill nor intellect; it's just school-yard bullying transported to the cricket field.

I don't know if the Australians engaged in any sledging in this match (though it seems highly likely that they did), but it does appear that their past habit of doing so at least provided the fuel for the present explosion of indignation and accusation. And when it seemed as though, in their pursuit of victory, the Australians made dubious appeals and claimed wickets that were not theirs to claim, instances of past sledging ignited feelings of grievance and victimisation among the Indian players and officials. I believe that it was these past instances of bad behaviour by the Australians, as much as any instances of sledging in the recent match, which Indian captain Anil Kumble had in mind when he accused the Australians of not playing in the spirit of the game. And I think the Australians need to take a good, long hard look at themselves and realise that victories accomplished, to whatever degree, by sledging are hollow victories indeed.

Finally, there is the spectre of racism. I wasn't on the field when Indian player Harbhajan Singh allegedly called Andrew Symonds a "monkey". I wasn't at the hearing in which match referee Mike Proctor sustained the allegations against Singh and imposed a three match ban. I don't know what evidence was adduced, for and against, the allegation. But at least Singh has had the benefit of a hearing, and will be able to lodge an appeal - which is more courtesy than has been afforded to umpire Bucknor. If Harbhajan called Symonds a "monkey" - the taunt that Indian crowds yelled at him during Australia's recent tour of India -then he deserves to be banned. If he is innocent, the Australians must be examined as to why they lodged the complaint, and made to account accordingly.

Racism must be stamped out of all walks of life. In the past - and the last South African tour of Australia comes to mind - sections of the Australian public racially abused players from other countries. Fortunately, Australia's cricketing and civil authorities have taken steps to prevent this from reoccurring - more than the Indian authorities appear to have done with respect to the racists among their own spectators. And for the BCCI to demand that Harbhajan be cleared or else the present tour will be cancelled is a disgrace; this is a demand that undermines the integrity of the whole process. Granted, the Indians are to an extent entitled to feel miffed that it is one of their players who are among the first to be suspended under the ICC's racism code, especially given the history of racism which Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians, and others have had to endure. But in order for the code to be effective and to have integrity, it must apply to all without exception, regardless of historical injustices; as soon as conditions begin to be placed on the application of the code, it becomes a farce.

So, how does this get resolved? To begin, the captains must take the lead and set the example by their own behaviour. They must be seen to be engaging one another in a spirit of sportsmanship and mutual respect - and not just for show, but genuinely, as part of their integral approach to the game. And the players must follow the example set. And the cricketing boards of the various nations must respect the independence and sanctity of the umpires and disciplinary officials. The "talking" has to be done with bat and ball, and not at press conferences or through the issuing of threats and ultimatums. Any other course simply cheapens the game and makes a mockery of the values which it supposedly represents.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Eureka Street Article

A bit over a month ago, the editor of Eureka Street, an e-journal published by the Australian Jesuits, asked me to write an article about the union movement and the forthcoming election. The timing of the request wasn't exactly great, given I was struggling to get assignments submitted on time and still recovering from eye surgery, but since Eureka Street pay for articles and I really need the money, I agreed to the request. Also, my vanity in seeing my name attached to a published piece played its part!

So here is the link. Hope you enjoy!

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Authors are people who are easy enough to get along with - if you're fond of children. (Michael Joseph)

I Suppose It Had To Happen...

Well, after a protracted "phoney campaign", the PM finally visited the Governor-General to inform His Excellency that he should dissolve the Parliament and call an election for November 24th.

Forgive me if I sound cynical, but once again we're going to be launched into a contest between a Liberal Party that's about as "liberal" as a Southern Baptist Convention, and a Labor Party that wouldn't recognise the expression "working class" if it bit them on their collective arse!


At least the media will be happy, gleefully press-ganging the political main-players every day for the next six weeks in their never-ending quest for the gaff-of-the-day. Meanwhile, Messrs Howard and Rudd will be insisting that they're as different from one another as chalk and cheese, while at the same time maintaining that the other lot are copying their ideas!


Lord preserve us, but this next little while is going to be a joy to live through. Don't get me wrong, I'm gagging for a change of government: as far as I'm concerned, John Howard will go down in history as the most mediocre person to have ever been Prime Minister of this country. Which tells you something about how abysmal the Opposition has been in the last ten years - and how short sighted the voting population of this nation. And, no, it's not because they've been voting conservative, it's the reasons why: fear, ignorance, bigotry, selfishness. I reckon Amos, Hosea, and Jeremiah would have been having something to say to us over this last decade or so...

Anyhoo, we might as well settle in for what's undoubtedly going to be a "fun" ride characterised by oodles of pork-barrelling, blithely delivered assurances about the costings on all those election promises, and accusations of bad faith, incompetence, inexperience, shady dealings and general character assassination. Ain't democracy wonderful???

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Of course democracy's no fair. And a good thing, too. Give the likes of Baldrick the vote and we'll be back to cavorting Druids, death by stoning, and dung for dinner. (Edmund Blackadder)

A Question of Trust

Who do you trust?”

With this slogan, John Howard propelled the Coalition to victory at the last election. When the Coalition also achieved the rare feat of gaining control of the Senate, Howard assured Australians that he would not abuse the power that had been placed in his hands.

But as another election approaches, it seems the Coalition has been hoisted on the petard of its own sloganeering. And the hoisting has come from a most unexpected direction: industrial relations.

The introduction, in 2006, of the Workchoices legislation - the Howard government’s blueprint for industrial reform - was always bound to be controversial. But instead of the anticipated campaign of industrial protest, which could be relied on to generate temporary attention before fading away, the union movement has responded with a clever media assault that has both resonated with the public and left the government wrong-footed. Not even big business’ deep pockets have been able to reverse the contribution which industrial relations has made to the Howard government’s slide in the polls.

Trust is at the heart of the industrial relations debate. When John Howard promised not to abuse his Senate majority, he was building on the covenant he had constructed with the Australian “mainstream” at earlier elections: loyalty at the ballot-box in exchange for protection of “mainstream” interests. Had he limited the scope of Workchoices to sidelining the union movement, he could arguably have escaped any perception of broken promises; but by enacting legislation that has so completely skewed the employment relationship in favour of employers, he has betrayed his own covenant.

The union movement has seized upon this breach to drive home the message that, under Workchoices, everyone is vulnerable. Their method is simple and effective: real-life case-histories narrated by the individuals concerned, chronicling the loss of conditions and jobs as employers take advantage of Workchoices to refashion the industrial landscape.

The government and business response has been expensive and ineffective. Lavishly produced commercials depicting mythologically happy workplaces cannot match the gritty realism of rural workers standing in the middle of arid landscape saying: “Out here, jobs aren’t that easy to find.” Unions know it is easier to play on fears than it is to build up hopes - this, afterall, is the same formula that has ensured John Howard’s repeated electoral success. But when a sense of betrayal is added to fear, slick commercialism serves only to reinforce the point the union movement has been making to anyone who‘ll listen: the Howard government cannot be trusted.

It is clear from the latest government-business offensive that the lessons of 2006 have not been learned. A new batch of commercials have been produced insisting employment conditions are protected as a matter of “fact”; that the effect of Workchoices has been an equal prosperity for employers and employees; and warning against thuggish union officials armed with industrial power. But what the Howard government and its business allies have failed to realise is that, in an atmosphere of distrust, such claims appear only as propaganda; by asserting so fervently that all is well under Workchoices, they in fact beg the question of whether or not this is actually the case.

Especially when every instance of workers having their conditions stripped or losing their jobs receives widespread media attention. And when studies by reputable academic institutions repeatedly demonstrate that the net effect of individual contracts is to cause a reduction in conditions, commercials insisting that the contrary is “fact” simply appear dishonest.

Had the Howard government been more discerning, it might have run commercials admitting its mistakes and pointing to initiatives such as the “fairness test” as proof it was committed to creating a balanced system. As a strategy, this involves some risk; but Howard’s hopes for re-election rest on re-establishing the trust of the “mainstream”. A display of humility might just have done so.

However, it’s unlikely such honesty will be forthcoming. John Howard’s determination to re-shape the Australian economy in the neo-liberal mould will admit of no mistakes. In the meantime, the “mainstream” on which Howard has built his political support has lost its trust in him - not least because the harsh reality of life under Workchoices belies the chimeral promises of the government’s media campaign.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: A politician is someone who believes you don't have to fool the people all the time - just during election campaigns. (Stanley Davis)

Who's Afraid of Industrial "Reform"?

As the Australian Federal election starts to loom large on the horizon of most Australians' political consciousness, and as opinion polls continue to suggest that the Labor Opposition are in with a real chance of breaking the Howard Government's decade-long stranglehold on power, industrial relations is shaping up as one of the key battlegrounds for the hearts and minds of the voting public.

In some respects, the pitches thrown at voters by both sides are somewhat predictable. The Howard Government continues to trot out the tired old whipping horse of secretive "union power" should the ALP win the next election; the ALP continue to pose as the party that champions decency and fairness in the employment relationship. Yet, beneath these familiar masks lurk some subtleties that may have escaped most people's attention. For in reality this is not a battle between parties with opposing perspectives on industrial relations, but a contest to determine who can best massage their message and thereby convince the public of their right to electoral support.

In part, this is played out in the overt messages that are issued by both the Coalition and the ALP. The Coalition continue to trumpet their record as "economic managers", pointing to Australia's "record low" unemployment figures as proof of the veracity of Coalition industrial policy, and in particular, the so-called "Workchoices" changes to industrial relations legislation. The ALP responds by arguing that the Howard Government have simply benefited from "reforms" instituted by the Hawke/Keating Labor Governments, while at the same time strongly playing up the social injustice implications of the Government's industrial policy.

But this posturing only hides the less attractive reality. The "official" unemployment figures are highly suspect, both methodologically and qualitatively. Aside from the fact that the "unemployment" rate only counts those who are formally registered with the Government's privatised "Jobs Network" (and many tens of thousands of people are not so registered, for a variety of reasons), the integrity of the figure suffers from rules such as the stipulation that an "employed" person is defined as someone who has an hour or more of paid employment per week. So if you are unfortunate enough to suffer from irregular or highly variable hours of work, you are counted as gainfully "employed"! The truth is that the real unemployment / underemployment rate in Australia is at least double the "official" (and supposedly "record low") rate. But this is the kind of duplicity that is to be expected from a Government who have made an artform out of dissembling, distorting, obfuscating, and downright dishonesty.

For the ALP's part, it is essentially attempting to have its cake and eat it, too. On the one hand, it argues that it is as economically "competent" (if not more so) than the Government, citing the aforementioned "reforms" under previous Federal Labor governments. On the other hand, it portrays itself as the friend of the working person / self-employed person / skilled tradesperson against the "big end of town"; the friend of the "battler" and the "aspirational class". This is a decidedly dishonest strategy, replete as it is with a sad combination of "me-too" politics and phoney class identification. The "reforms" of the Hawke/Keating Governments opened the door for the lamentable erosion of citizens' capacity to direct their own industrial / financial future that has been entrenched by the policies of the Howard Government; and even as it has been turning its back on its social-democratic foundations and mindlessly embracing neo-liberal economic orthodoxies, the ALP has been posturing as the party of social equality and conscience.

And it is this essential artificiality on both sides of politics that has underscored some of the recent manoeuvrings on industrial relations. Stung by a highly effective union campaign against the "Workchoices" legislation (an effectiveness derived in large part from the fact that the campaign drew on the real experiences of people victimised by the "reforms"), the Howard Government has dropped the "Workchoices brand", recruited the employers federations (isn't it funny how they're never called "bosses unions"?) to fund a multi-million dollar pro-Workchoices ad campaign, and have seized on the fact that the union movement has a campaign strategy for the forthcoming election to hysterically suggest an ALP-union conspiracy. Predictably, the ALP have attempted to destroy the claim of union control by assuring employers that unions will have neither a free rein nor a guaranteed future should the ALP win power, and has bent over backwards to water down its initially robust policy response to "Workchoices" as a sop to the powerful employer federations (no hint of a Coalition-business conspiracy, though).

But perhaps one of the most sweeping - and yet unnoticed, or at least, uncommented upon - aspects of the ALP's industrial policy has been its proposal to effectively make the governance of industrial relations an arm of the public service. It proposes doing this in two ways: by making the oversight of industrial relations the province of a "one-stop shop" entity called "Fair Work Australia"; and by abolishing the Australian Industrial Relations Commission (AIRC). True, the AIRC has effectively been reduced to a shadow of its former self under "Workchoices", and its substantive functions outsourced to creatures of the Howard Government such as the Australian Fair Pay Commission and the Office of the Employment Advocate; but the proposed abolition of the Commission represents the effective abandonment of a framework that has made Australia’s IR system unique in the industrialised world.

As an independent judiciary, the AIRC has been the sole instrumentality capable of holding both capital and labour to account, restraining the excesses of both mindless union militancy and callous libertarian capitalism. The net result has been an economic prosperity and social cohesiveness the envy of the rest of the world, built largely on Keynesian principles of judicious intervention in the economy, and achieved without the appalling inequalities that characterise the “boom” economies of post-Thatcherite Britain and post-Reaganomics America.

That the Coalition should wish to see the Commission eviscerated is hardly surprising, given the dominance of neo-liberal ideologues on the conservative side of politics. That this feat will be enacted by the ALP should it win power not only indicates a similar neo-liberal ascendancy in what passes for progressive politics in Australia, it also points to a shockingly one-dimensional understanding of economics. In other words, it’s not actually about the economy - that is, the totality of the relationship between business, finance, employment, human dignity, bargaining power and social equity - it’s actually about convincing the electorate who can secure the biggest budget surpluses, maintain the lowest interest rates, and provide the biggest tax cuts.

Moreover, the name of the entity which the ALP propose will take over the role of the AIRC not only smacks of the jingoism for which the present Federal Government is notorious, given the politicisation of the public service under that selfsame government, it produces the alarming prospect that the entity itself will simply be a tool of party politics. There are already sufficient examples of this under the Howard Government for the potential loss of an independent AIRC to be truly worrying. Equally importantly, it makes a mockery of the rubric under which these “reforms” have been proposed: fair for all, not free for all.

Without an independent judiciary, industrial relations in Australia will become a free-for-all. And, as usual, the ones to suffer will be the most helpless: those with the least bargaining power; those without skills or only minimal skills; those stuck in the round of casualised work, unemployment, and underemployment. The Australian economy - that is, the nexus between human dignity and bargaining power in the workplace - is already on shaky ground; the “reforms” proposed by the ALP - and the further "reforms" that will almost certainly be implemented by the Coalition should they win the next election - may well cut the ground out from under working Australians completely and irrevocably.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: A poll is when people come to their census. (Anonymous)

Disconnected

While travelling on public transport, especially on the train, it has always struck me how people use technology to dislocate themselves from their surrounds. On every trip I take, I am sure to see at least one person plugged into their ipod (or, in former years, a discman or walkman), even if they're doing something else, like reading a book. I recently saw a young man on the train both plugged into a walkman and playing a portable computer game.

I have often wondered about this phenomenon, about the apparent unwillingness of people to undertake a journey without somehow removing themselves from their environment. Sure, technology isn't the only way we can do this - immersing yourself in a book or a magazine or newspaper is just as effective a method as any - but there seems to me to be something particularly pervasive about the need for distance through technology. Reading a book can be just a way of passing the time on what might be an otherwise dull journey spent doing nothing more than staring listlessly out the window or over the shoulder of the person sitting opposite you. But there seems to be something about technology that enables us to not only escape our locale, but also ourselves.

This is a phenomenon I've observed in other contexts, as well. People frequently talk about getting bored easily, about needing to do something in order to feel as though their lives are being spent in meaningful activity. People speak of the need to constantly occupy themselves, as though being unoccupied might imply some sort of non-existence, some refutation to the proposition that they actually are. Descartes asserted: I think, therefore I am. But it seems to me that many people would argue: I do, I act, I behave, I experience, therefore I am.

Why should this be? At the very basic level, plugging into the ipod while sitting in a train carriage is just a particular means of getting through a tedious chore. Likewise, there are some people who are simply constitutionally disposed toward activity, whether whittling a stick or building a house. But what about the people who listen to their ipods while reading or playing a computer game? Is this just a portable analogue of listening to some pleasant background music while curled up on the couch with a good book? Or is there some deeper issue?

Take, for example, the man I saw on my recent trip to the wonderful Yarran Dheran sanctuary. There he was, striding along the walking path on a beautiful Autumn morning, surrounded by picturesque scenery - and yet he was plugged into headphones, from which I could hear tinny music blaring. Was this just a means through which he could add an extra dimension to his experience of walking through the bushland - or was he actually incapable of having that experience on its own terms? Did he need some form of technological accompaniment to mediate the sensory input of his surrounds? Or was there something much deeper, more profound at work?

I have become convinced that there is indeed something quite powerful at work in this phenomenon of self-removal. At one level, the need to be pre-occupied arises, I think, from the related fears of death and meaninglessness. The desire to be doing something meaningful - ie: the desire to avoid doing nothing - is a symptom of our inability to come to terms with our mortality. We are conscious that we only have a finite amount of time in which we will exist, and we greatly desire to ensure that it is not "wasted". We don't necessarily want to be famous or to make our mark - although, in our celebrity-driven society, in which fame (or notoriety) are increasingly articulated as the the only measures of worth, this is becoming ever more the case. Rather, we want to know that our life has not been "idle", that we have somehow been "productive" or "useful". Because we don't know what - if anything - lies beyond death, we want others to say of us that we did not "waste" our time.

Which feeds into the issue of meaninglessness. It seems to me that unless someone has "something to show" for their life, be it the conventional markers of "success" such as house, family, career or business, or more abstract indicators such as fame, reputation, status and so forth, we consider them to have lead a largely meaningless life. A person has to "make something of themselves" or "do something" with their life in order to be regarded (by others) as having "made a contribution" to the sum total of human meaningfulness. Not that I'm suggesting that complete and total idleness is a virtue; rather, that what we do is frequently driven by our fears, and these fears shape the criteria by which we assess meaning and value.

But beyond all these, I think there is a very simple malaise at work in the human psyche. The desire to dislocate ourselves from our environment, to use technology to escape from our surrounds, is, in fact, an attempt to escape from ourselves. It seems to me that so often we plug into our ipods and computers and televisions because we can't bear the thought of being alone inside our own minds for even the shortest period of time. Because if we were, we would have to think; and if we started thinking, we might start dwelling on our fears; and if we allow our fears to stir, all the insecurities and anxieties about our lives burst to the forefront of our consciousness. In other words, the desire to disconnect is the desire to avoid the fears by which we are so often driven.

I think the antidote is not necessarily to switch off all the gadgets - although I do think that perhaps less time spent plugged in, and more time spent in the dual processes of contemplation and engagement, would be both more useful and healthier, existentially speaking. More importantly, however, we need to reassess the values by which we create meaning and interpret value. To begin, we need not be afraid of thought, because it is only through thought that we can confront our anxieties. Deep reflection may be frightening, but simply running away from our fears doesn't solve the problem; our fears remain, for all that we may ignore them or pretend they don't exist. But confronting our fears also involves challenging the basis of their existence; do they actually articulate a recurring issue in our lives, or are we just allowing ourselves to be swept up in a tide of neurosis and insecurity? If the former, how do we address that issue; if the latter, how do we create a new, more healthy basis for being?

Quite often the problem is not that we have to confront our demons, but that doing so requires that we take action in response. All too often, we grow comfortable with our fears; they become like a kind of callous on the soul, familiar in their irritation. Equally as often, we allow others to tell us what we should think, or where the answers to our particular problems lie; a fact that has enabled the hugely destructive self-help industry to generate enormous amounts of money peddling easy answers and simplistic platitudes to the existentially destitute. In the former, we stay locked within the bounds of our despair; in the latter, we substitute one addiction for another.

So it's not easy, nor is it simply a matter of recognising the symptoms and responding. It is a life-long process, an ongoing experience of lived reality. But it is a reality in which we must engage, and upon which we must reflect and meditate. Nor is there a single, hard and fast way; often, the path we have to tread is solitary and difficult. But it seems to me that this is what life truly lived is all about: embracing ambiguity, engaging with uncertainty, and walking in the darkness with openness, humility, generosity and humour. For me, my twin guides are Stoic moral philosophy and Christian faith; for others, the guides will be completely different. What matters is not which particular road we walk, but whether we are prepared to undertake the journey; anything else is simply denial, and ultimately destructive.

Talk to you soon,

BB

All men desire to be elevated; but all men fail to understand that they have within themselves that which is already elevated. (Mencius)

The Art of Victory

"Why are Australians such bad winners?"

My Dearly Beloved posed this question to me after we'd spent a day at the MCG watching the Australian cricket team wrap up the Fourth Test against England - courtesy of some tickets to the Members Stand provided by some wonderfully generous friends. The Australians won easily - indeed, the the English posted only modest scores in both their innings, and the Australians needed only to bat once; the subsequent victory to Australia by an innings and 99 runs was about as comfortable as any win at the first-class level gets.

What prompted my Dearly Beloved's question was not the understandable jubilation of the Australian players at their victory, or the generally celebratory nature of the crowd response to the game's outcome. Nor indeed was my Dearly Beloved disturbed by the mostly good-natured rivalry between the English and Australian fans, and the banter which this produced.

Instead, the question was prompted by the conduct of a single person: a woman sitting two rows behind us. Now, I'll admit that although I couldn't see this woman for most of the time, I was not well disposed toward her from the outset as she had a most unattractive voice: something akin to a bandsaw cutting through concrete. Hardly her fault, I'll grant you, but I did wonder as she gossipped to her friend through most of the day at the top of her voice why she had to be so loud. It was not as though the chanting which broke out at different times in various sections of the crowd made conversation impossible; and there were plenty of breaks in which there was neither cheering or chanting, and a quiet word with one's neighbour was perfectly possible. But the loudness and harshness of this woman's voice suggested some unattractive underlying personality trait; a suggestion that rose above simple bias by the content and manner of her conversation.

Although perhaps "conversation" is too generous a description. As I said, this woman's voice was quite loud, nor was its volume moderated in any way by her subject matter. And so she continued on with an almost embarrassing obliviousness to the sensitivities of others, dissecting the various scandals and other salacious affairs in which her friends, family, and acquaintances were at that time embroiled. I was neither interested in, nor did I want to know, who was having sex with whom, or who was in trouble with the Tax Office, or who was a bastard to work with. Not that I, or any one else within a considerable radius, had any say in the matter: this woman let us all know regardless. Moreover, she wasn't merely gossiping; she was engaging in what I call the "And then I said" mode of gossip. That is, every anecdote appeared to end with a cautionary sermon on how her sage advice in every matter had been ignored, with disastrous consequences. If only mere mortals had heeded her wisdom, all would have been well.

In other words, everything she said, and the way she said it, suggested she both had a smug, self-satisfied view of her own worth and wisdom, as well as taking an obvious delight in the misfortunes and foibles of others. Not the personality type to which I warm.

No, I was not well-disposed toward this woman. But what made my disposition less favourable was that, as the match (oh, yes, I was there to watch the cricket) drew closer to its inevitable conclusion - an easy Australian victory - this woman turned from gossip to bombarding those about her with disparaging comments about all things English. Every time an English player produced a good shot and scored runs, she would belittle their skill. Every time a wicket fell, or an English batsman had a near escape, she would laud the superiority of the Australians or suggest that it was only undeserved luck that had produced any English success in the past. Every time the English supporters tried to rally their side with chants or barracking, this woman observed with obvious relish that those same supporters would have 10,000 miles on their way back to England to contemplate their side's demise in this series.

Hence, my Dearly Beloved's question: "Why are Australians such bad winners?"

Now, don't get me wrong: I love Australia belting the Poms in the cricket as much as the next bloke. But what made this woman especially distasteful -aside from what her gossip revealed about her personality - was that her partisanship allowed for no acknowledgement of the merits of others. There was no sense of sportsmanship, of playing the game in a good spirit; that games, far from being one of many modes of developing the human spirit, were there only to be won. Moreover, not merely won, but won in such a way as to ensure the utter humiliation of the opposition.

Ultimately, however, what grated about this woman was the indication that she had no sense that cricket, afterall, is just a game. Granted, in the age of professional sports, it is a means of living for the players concerned; but this woman's response was one of excess, as though cricket, or any competitive sport in which Australia is involved, had a meaning and virtue in and of itself: namely, that Australia had to win, had to utterly thrash and humiliate the opposition, otherwise she would be lessened somehow, and life itself would be diminished. This woman had seemingly made an enormous emotional investment in Australia winning; such an investment, in fact, that there was simply no room for anything else.

Compare this attitude to an incident which occurred at the end of the Second Test when Australia last played England - in England, in 2005. The Australians had fallen agonisingly short of winning the game, a heartbreak rendered all the more wrenching because England had been well in control for most of the contest, and the Australian players had performed heroically well to get as close as they did. And yet, at the moment of triumph, one of the English players - Andrew Flintoff, who had been more responsible than most for the English victory - immediately went across to the disconsolate Australians to offer his congratulations for their efforts. There is a powerful photo of Flintoff on his haunches shaking the hand of the Australian player Brett Lee, one arm cast consolingly across Lee's shoulders, as Lee crouches, almost on his knees, sadly contemplating what might have been. It has been rightly lauded as the defining image of that particular series, because it speaks powerfully to the spirit in which the players conducted themselves: with determination to do their best and carry their team to victory, but in such a manner as left room for generosity and dignity and acknowledgement of the merit of others.

In that one instant, Flintoff conveyed a depth of spirit that the woman with the bandsaw voice seemed to lack entirely.

As for my Dearly Beloved's question, I am sure there are all sorts of sociological, psychological, and existential answers. The adoption of the "win at all costs" mentality; the importance which sport assumes in the lives of those who feel disempowered or disenfranchised; cultural cringe; anti-intellectualism; cultural arrogance; transferred compensation for personal feelings of inadequacy. And while all of these are undoubtedly true and accurate, it seems to me to be, ultimately, a question of spirit - and of the generosity of spirit. And it seems to me that the question of generosity of spirit offers us a clear choice: either we allow ourselves to enter into the lives of others, or we barricade our lives within the shell of our own being. If we do the former, we will expose ourselves to many misfortunes and setbacks; but we will be all the richer for the experience, and for the benefits which coming into contact with other lives brings. If we do the latter, we may very well be safe from the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", but our lives will be barren, empty, and always searching for some external source from which to find completion of our being.

Ultimately, beneath my dislike, I felt sorry for this woman; it seemed to me that she was entirely enclosed within herself, and could only find sustenance from the misfortunes of others, or from denigrating their efforts. Perhaps I am doing her an injustice, because I have only seen her within this one context. But it was a context that was powerful enough for me to conclude that, at the very least, her spirit of being was severely diminished or constricted. Afterall, if she conducted herself so spitefully in so trivial a context as a game of cricket, how did she conduct herself in important areas such as human relationships?

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: If a person cannot conduct themselves properly in trivial affairs, what hope is there that they will conduct themselves properly in important matters? (Confucius)

The Vision Thing

I have been a voracious reader since childhood, and it was while I was still a child that I read Ursula Le Guin's novel A Wizard of Earthsea. The first installment of the now acclaimed Earthsea Cycle, this novel tells the story of a young wizard called Ged, who, because of pride and ignorance, lets loose a great evil in the world of Earthsea. The book is taken up with Ged's quest to track down the evil he has loosed upon the world; and, at one point, he is shipwrecked upon a lonely island and taken in by some poor fisherfolk.

It is at this point that one of the most memorable passages in Le Guin's novel occurs. Ged is given a boat by an old fisherman in order to continue his quest; and the passage that follows has remained with me ever since:

Unlike the shrewd fishermen of Gont, this old man, for fear and wonder of his wizardry, would have given the boat to Ged. But Ged paid him for it in sorcerer's kind, healing his eyes of the cataracts that were in the way of blinding him. The old man, rejoicing, said to him, "We called the boat Sanderling, but do you call her Lookfar, and paint eyes aside her prow, and my thanks will look out from that blind wood for you and keep you from rock and reef. For I had forgotten how much light there is in the world until you gave it back to me."

The reason this passage stuck with me was quite simple: as a child who suffered from severe myopia in both eyes, and who as a consequence was already wearing very thick spectacles (and which would only become thicker over time), I understood all too well the desire for unclouded vision. Laser surgery had yet to be invented (and would, in any event, prove to be inappropriate for my particular condition), nor had I reached an age where contact lenses could be utilised; so I had simply resigned myself to never being able to see except through the distorting lens of spectacles. Thus it was that I appreciated what the old man in the novel meant when he said he had forgotten how much light there was in the world; only, in my case, I had never really known.

As I grew older, I was eventually liberated from the burden of thick spectacles by contact lenses. First, soft lenses, and then hard lenses. Nor do I use the words "liberated" and "burden" lightly or melodramatically. Unless you have worn really thick spectacles (and I mean spectacles whose lens thickness is measured in inches) you cannot really appreciate what a "glass darkly" they are. For starters, with spectacles, the point of focus is in front of the eye, which means everything appears much smaller or more distant than is actually the case. Also, and especially with thick lenses that require thick frames, peripheral vision is virtually non-existent; wearing spectacles is like wearing a vision straight-jacket, limiting what you can see to a narrow field to your immediate front. Finally, thick spectacles are extremely uncomfortable: in Summer they are hot and heavy; in Winter, they are constantly obscured by rain and fog.

Not that I necessarily felt sorry for myself; I always counted myself more fortunate than the blind or the near-blind for whom no amount of corrective devices proved effective. In so doing, I concede that I was ignorant of the rich lives lead by those over whom I considered myself more fortunate; nor do I deny that my sentiment was occasionally a salve to damaged pride in the wake of the inevitable childhood bullying or adolescent angst. But in general, my feeling was not so much one of self-pity as sheer frustration. I felt trapped in a kind of netherworld, in which I could imperfectly glimpse the possibilities of undiminished vision, but from whose promise I was permanently alienated.

In time, of course, I came to terms with my condition. My vision gradually stabilised (in relative terms), I was able to access the freedom of contact lenses, and I was not prevented in any way from indulging in my love of literature and writing. But I never forgot that particular passage from A Wizard of Earthsea, either; it was at once both consolation and reminder, a kind of bitter-sweet meditation of the Weltschmerz of being.

And so it was that I recently sat in the consulting room of a retinal specialist, considering Le Guin's novel and the reaction of the old man. I had just been informed that I had suffered a detached retina in my left eye, and that it would require surgery to correct. And the sooner the better; indeed, if it was left too late, or not treated at all, the result could be total vision loss in the left eye. How had this happened? As I understood the explanation, it went something like this: as we age, the fluid in our eyes changes, becoming denser and harder. This usually starts in early to mid thirties, and usually has no adverse effects. In my case, however, because my retina was so weak, the change in the eye fluid had caused a tear in the retina, into which fluid had leaked. This fluid had eventually resulted in the retina becoming detached from the eye.

Shortly thereafter, I went under the knife (so to speak) at the Royal Eye and Ear Hospital in Melbourne. The procedure employed was that the fluid would be drained from my eye, a cold laser would be utilised to seal the tear in the retina, and a gas bubble would be dropped in the eye to press the retina back into place. It was a day procedure only, with an overnight stay for observation purposes. I was told it would be done under a local anesthetic, but as it transpired, they put me out completely. Coming out of general anesthetic was quite unpleasant; aside from general grogginess, there was a foul taste in the pit of my stomach. But aside from that, there was no pain; a slight headache, which pain-killers dealt with; a scratching sensation in the left eye which went away after 24 hours; a bruised feeling in the socket, which persisted for a week or so; and a bloodshot eye which gradually diminished. My eye was also puffy and black, like someone had smacked me in the face with a 4x2; but I suppose you can't have surgery and come out of it looking like a fashion model!

And all this just three weeks before my and my Dearly Beloved's wedding! Not that we were stressed (much!). For myself, however, I wasn't so much concerned with the procedure as with what would happen if it were not entirely successful: if there was vision loss, or loss of function in the eye, would that have implications for my hopes to candidating for the ministry? And if so, what else would I do; what calling could I follow, having set myself on the path to that calling which I feel it is my life's purpose to pursue? In the end, I could only shrug my shoulders and allow matters to take their course; there are just some things in life over which we have no control, and about which it is pointless getting upset. Not, I hasten to add, that I was resigned to any sort of fate, nor expecting the worst. Rather, I simply understood that all I could do was place myself in the hands of the surgeons and specialists and let them get on with the job.

Well, it's been two weeks since the procedure, and I am happy to report that, according to my doctors, I am healing nicely. I still can't wear a contact lens in my left eye as the gas bubble still hasn't dissolved fully (I may still be one eyed come wedding time), but at least I can now read and write (unlike the first week and a half, when I could only contemplate the slow passage of time), and I have no troubles getting about (although depth perception is slightly problematic). Also, there should be no problems flying off to NZ for the honeymoon since the gas bubble inserted in my eye should be fully dissolved by then; it looked at one stage as though I would have to have long-acting gas bubbles inserted instead, which would have meant delaying the honeymoon until much later next year.

More importantly, I want to add that I was a public patient. I do not have private health insurance because I cannot, and have never been able to, afford private health insurance, rebates and incentives notwithstanding. Moreover, I have always had a personal view that maintaining a public health system as a primary and not second-rate form of community care is an absolute priority, a matter toward which our tax monies should be focused. The REEH is a public hospital. I was in a public ward. The nurses, despite being obviously hard-pressed by their workload, were attentive and compassionate. The doctors were at once down-to-earth and humorous. I never once felt like a second-rate patient. The REEH was everything a public hospital should be - despite what I am sure were the kinds of shortages in resources and personnel which our user-pays obsessed society has imposed upon the public health system. They were absolutely fantastic, and I have nothing but praise for the entire staff.

It is just a pity that, as a society, we care more about tax-breaks and for the short-termism of immediate gain than we do for the institution of public health willingly funded by the citizenry as a whole.

I am still recovering from the surgery; and although I still don't have access to the full measure of the world's light, thanks to the staff at REEH, I have the same level as I enjoyed before. It is enough.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: We all know what light is; but it is not easy to tell what it is. (Samuel Johnson)

Behaviour, Technology & Population: The Environmental Triad

In 1966, Harry Harrison wrote a novella entitled Make Room! Make Room!, which, in 1973, became the film Soylent Green. Both depict dystopian societies in which the failure to check population growth and ensure sustainable development has resulted in chronic overcrowding, desperate resource shortages, and collapsing infrastructure. But Soylent Green made one significant departure from Harrison’s novel: it introduced the notion of global warming. Indeed, the plot turns on the fact that Soylent Green, a plankton-based food substitute, is actually made using human bodies obtained from state-run euthanasia centres - because global warming has killed off the world’s plankton supplies.

Both Make Room! Make Room! and Soylent Green have been criticized as overly dependent on Malthusian notions of exponential population growth, and for failing to take account of the remedial effect of increasing technological efficiency. But these criticisms fail to acknowledge the essential truth in both the novel and film: that environmental degradation is largely a product of the First World’s profligacy; and that technology alone cannot solve the ecological dilemma by which humanity is confronted.

These truths are relevant to Australia in two key respects. The Howard Government has declined to endorse the Kyoto protocols on global warming on the grounds that they don’t do enough to limit Third World greenhouse emissions. But the question immediately arises: why should Kyoto place similar limits on the Third World when it is the First World that is largely responsible for the pollution that has destabilized the global environment? Australia is the world’s largest per capita polluter; the United States is the world’s largest net polluter. The onus is surely on both societies to take the lead in reducing greenhouse gas emissions.

Secondly, the Federal Government is also making serious noises about building nuclear fission power stations as a "solution" to global warming, as well as indulging in speculation about the possibilities of geo-sequestration. This reflects a worrying obsession with the "quick fix" of technology instead of a preparedness to adopt the hard grind of behavioural change. The approach seems to be: let’s close our eyes and hope someone comes up with a clever invention that gets us out of this mess.

Moreover, population, for all its Malthusian overtones, remains an issue. Much hand-wringing occurs over the alleged failure by First World nations to sustain "replacement level" birth rates; the simple truth, however, is that there are too many people on this planet. Advanced industrial civilizations are mass consumers of resources, regardless of technological efficiency; therefore, mass population only exacerbates the negative effects of mass consumption. In other words, it is simply not possible – never mind sustainable - for the present global population to exist at First World levels of industrial capacity and material prosperity. And nothing we do to make technology more efficient, or our behaviour less wasteful, will change that fact in the longer term.

Thus, a long-term solution to environmental degradation will necessarily involve not just technological initiatives and changes to societal behaviour, but also a commitment to getting the global population levels down. And this is perhaps the most problematic aspect of the environmental dilemma, involving as it invariably must, difficult ethical issues. But the only way meaningful population decrease can be humanely achieved is through managed processes; that is, if we want to avoid the ghastly agencies of war, famine, and disease in the wake of environmental collapse – or the mechanical mass euthanasia depicted in Soylent Green.

The implications of Harrison’s novel and the film it spawned should be clear to most Australians. Aside from noticeable changes to weather patterns that have seen record dry winters and an unprecedented early start to the bushfire season in south-eastern Australia, there has been much media coverage of the Queensland Government’s decision to dam the Mary Valley, and of the dire warnings contained in the recently released Stern report. Australians are aware, as never before, of the consequences of environmental change – and of the long-term inability of technology alone to ward off the worst effects of global warming.

It now appears that at least some political fingers are starting to get twitchy on the panic button. The only question is whether this twitchiness is derived from a realization that we need to do something, or just reflects the politician’s instinct to bend in the immediate breeze of the vox populi.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed. (Ralph Waldo Emmerson)

End Times

Last Friday was my last day as a trade union official.

It has been an emotional time, because I have been associated with the union movement for the better part of two decades. As a rank-and-file member, as a workplace delegate, as an elected honourary official, and as a paid official, I have spent the best part of my working life helping people in the often brutal environment of industrial relations. And I use the word brutal advisedly: I have witnessed some truly horrific and inhumane acts and omissions undertaken in the name of commercial advantage, operational efficiency, or simply as a consequence of the exercise of power.

But I have also seen some moving examples of integrity and compassion. I say this in all honesty: I have met very few HR professionals for whom I have any respect, simply because they were too cowardly, or indifferent, or stupid to conduct themselves with any independence from the corporate line. Most willingly subordinated themselves to being nothing more than the club in the managerial fist, and justified the fact by claiming they were only doing their job. Some, quite frankly, enjoyed the experience of power. But there were a precious few - about half a dozen or so whom I won't name, but if they read this blog will know who they are - who did not separate being a HR practitioner from also having a conscience, or treating people with dignity and respect. And, as time went on, it was these precious few whom I came to admire and respect, because, in many ways, they had a tougher job than I did. And sure, we didn't always agree on issues, and sometimes ended up in the Industrial Relations Commission contesting a dispute; but whether they agreed with me or not was never the issue. I knew these people always acted with principle and professionalism, and more than once they demonstrated their compassion toward people to whom it might have been very easy to be indifferent.

I have also had the immense privilege of working with some of the most talented, committed, and knowledgeable people one could ever hope to encounter in life. It has been inspiring and humbling to witness their commitment to the cause of human dignity, and I have often seen the terrible emotional price they paid for the sake of helping others. Of course, like all humans, trade union officials are not plaster saints: I have seen the incompetent or the indifferent, those who were not cut out for the job and those who simply viewed it as a step to somewhere else. But the overwhelming majority were motivated by an abiding desire to even the balance of bargaining power between the corporation and the individual, and to prevent the strong from victimising the helpless. And most conducted themselves with a courage and persistence and a self-sacrificing generosity that was wonderful to witness.

Ultimately, though, what kept me going were the numerous examples of courage and dignity which I saw displayed by so many ordinary working people under the most horrendous of circumstances. I have seen people bullied and victimised and terrorised who nonetheless refused to yield to fear or the cult of hierarchy; ordinary, everyday, remarkable people for whom their right to dignity was more important than security or popularity or the pressure to conform. And so often it was these same people who, when I thought I hadn't done enough, or achieved a sufficiently good result, told me with disarming honesty just what I had achieved, how much I had changed their lives for the better. The small results were so often the most significant: the mere fact that there had been someone on their side, someone to stand beside them and speak for them was what they most often appreciated. And that was moving and humbling and uplifting beyond my power to describe.

And so it hasn't been easy, making the decision to leave. But there have been other calls on my life growing within me for the last few years; calls which had always been there, but which I had briefly stilled through my work as a union official. But those calls can no longer be stilled. I do not know what the future holds; I have my hopes, but I am aware that I have not been made any promises, either. But, regardless of all that, I know the time has arrived: the roads and strands of consequence have converged, and I need to go forward toward that calling which I feel it is my life's destiny to serve. And so now I have aid aside one vocation, ready to pick up the new.

But perhaps it is not as simple as that. Perhaps the vocation of trade unionism has prepared me for the vocation of ministry; perhaps this is not an ending of one thing, but simply the beginning which toward which that thing was leading. Perhaps it is not a severing of strands but a tying off of loose ends, and their continuance in a new thread. But be that as it may, one thing is over and a new thing has begun; and I am grateful for the old and looking forward to the new.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: If we do meet again, why, we shall smile! If not, well then, this parting was well made. (William Shakespeare)

The Definition of Loneliness

I was recently summonsed for jury duty.

I've actually been looking forward to this for a long time. Ever since my name went onto the electoral roll, I've waited for my opportunity to undertake jury service. Not, I hasten to add, because I relished the opportunity to sit in judgement on any of my fellow citizens. On the contrary, I have always been aware of the terrible responsibility that frequently rests upon jurors, and my anticipation of jury service was anything but tinged with rose-coloured perception. Rather, I viewed jury service like voting: part of the simultaneous privilege and responsibility of citizenship. Serving in a jury would be both a reminder of my duty as a citizen to strengthen civil institutions through participation, and of my great good fortune of living in a democratic society where the legal process was underpinned by the involvement of the citizenry.

So wouldn't you just know it that when I finally do get summonsed, it couldn't have come at a worst time. Right in the middle of my theology exam. I had actually been anticipating that the exam would be concluded before I was due to report; but it was only after I received the summons that I discovered the exam would be running into the period after my jury service commenced. Accordingly, I was hoping - somewhat reluctantly, I have to admit - that on the day I was summonsed to attend, I wouldn't make it out of the general jury pool. Or, failing that, that I would be able to convince the court that I should be excused.

I and my fellow jurors gathered in the jury pool room. Eventually, the supervisor informed us that of the sixty or so people present, some forty of us would be selected at random to serve as a jury pool, from which a jury would be empanelled for a trial commencing that day. I waited as each name was called, my hope and anxiety in equal portions increasing as I escaped the calling of names...until, right toward the very end, I heard my own name. With a silent sigh, I answered to my name and took my place within the jury pool.

I won't tell you what court was involved, or the nature of the charge. Except to say it was a serious matter. As the jury pool filed into the courtroom, I found to my surprise that I was sitting next to the dock, within touching distance of the accused. I could hardly believe my eyes: the young person in the dock looked all of sixteen. Obviously, they must have been older, but all I saw in that moment was a vulnerable young kid.

Immediately, I was assailed by a wave of compassion. Regardless of who this person was, or what they were alleged to have done, I realised in that moment that here was an individual whose future had not merely been suspended, it had been changed completely, perhaps even eradicated. Obviously, I was conscious of the other side of this particular coin: of the victim of the alleged crime, and that person's family and friends. But as I examined the accused, I could see the emotions flickering across this young person's face: fear, anxiety, helplessness, and a sense of restlessness not unlike that one might expect from a caged animal. Nor was this person acting for the benefit of the jury: as it turned out, most of those who were to be empanelled sat with their back to the accused. I was one of the very few who could see this person's face, see their wide, staring eyes and apprehensive expression.

And the terrible, terrible loneliness. The accused sat in the dock at the back of the court. Their counsel sat at the bar table with the prosecutor at the front of the court, facing the judge. No-one sat with this young person except for a stolid guard who obviously wasn't there for moral support. The accused was utterly, completely, on their own. The fact that they were so young added poignancy to their isolation; they could see the whole court, see their counsel talking to one another, even on one occasion sharing a professional joke with the prosecutor. But this person had no-one to talk to, no-one with whom to share a reassuring smile or even a supportive squeeze of the hand. All they could do was follow the proceedings; and, during moments of intermission when the court's attention was occupied by other matters, contemplate their thoughts.

What was passing through this young person's mind? I wondered. Were they contemplating the possible future that lay before them if they were convicted? Were they wishing that if only they could have their time again, they would do anything other than be in the situation that had ended with them coming before the court? Were they thinking of family or friends? Of ruined prospects? Of the victim of the alleged crime and their family? Or were they simply too numb with fear, with the enormity of their current circumstances to think coherently?

I noted the nervously tapping fingers, the fidgeting feet, the occasionally bowed head. What state of mind did they reflect? What thoughts? What fears? I was overwhelmed; felt sick at heart, felt utterly wretched for this young person, and for the human condition that produces situations like this...

Eventually, my name was called. I explained my situation to the judge, and was excused. And with relief, I might add. I wanted no part of the terrible sadness I sensed was unfolding in this court.

Eventually, the jury pool members who had either been excused or not empanelled were discharged. As we were lead from the court, a burst of sunlight washed across my face. I was suddenly, intensely aware of my liberty, of the fact that I was free to leave that court. And I wondered: would that flood of compassion I had felt for the accused have affected my judgement had I been free to be called and empanelled? I would like to think not, and in retrospect, believe that, like most jurors, I would have judged the case on the evidence. But I would have felt the full weight of my decision, whatever it may have been, having caught in that glimpse of the accused not a possible criminal but a vulnerable human being, terribly, cosmically alone.

As I walked away from the court, I whispered a silent prayer: God be merciful to all those involved - the accused, the victim, and their family and friends.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Man's capacity for justice makes democracy possible; but man's inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary. (Reinhold Neibuhr)