The New Year’s conundrum

It’s a very strange thing:

Each new year we stay up late

We stand in awe of fireworks

We engage in sentimental review.

And we make our resolutions anew. 

The same as last year, and the years before.

We somehow hope for a year ahead 

That is kinder, fairer, with greater leadership; 

Perhaps not the leadership we deserve...

You know, one that mirrors the collective greed, complicity, insecurity, licentiousness.

But leadership that calls us to greatness, and demands greatness from those who lead.

A year ahead less brutal than the past 

With less mayhem, murder, grief.

Less sadness.

Yet, we know in the depths of our being

We fool ourselves and others.

For it is the human condition to lust, hate, and maul.

To destroy the beauty of the natural world

In the name of progress, order, orthodoxy. 

So we will again, each new year, engage in the same pantomime of hope and disappointment.

And we will hope, for without hope there is annihilation. 

So, my friends, raise a glass, toast a friend, make your resolutions.

And join with me as we, together, boldly proceed into a future of which we can only dread and dream.

Power, money & politics (AKA Lies, Lies and more Lies)

The release of the Panama Papers and the excellent work undertaken by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ) (https://www.icij.org/) stirred within me feelings of rage, resentment and resignation. Perhaps its my age catching up with me, or simply a growing cynicism about the motives of the rich and powerful - whether they be simply rich, simply powerful (e.g. a politician), or both - no matter if they entered into that condition with relatively pure motives or with evil. I think the latter could be exemplified by the big buffoon Clive Palmer who has begun to unravel recently (don't go graphic), or by even bigger buffoon Donald Trump, himself beginning to unravel - thankfully. Its harder to pick those who entered into their power or wealth with relatively pure motives, but I'd like to think someone like Bernie Sanders or - wait for it - even Malcolm Turnbull may be in that camp.

I have long wondered about the concept of inevitable decay and the way institutions seem inherently to tend towards corruption. I work for a tertiary education institution and over the past decade have observed how the stratosphere above a certain level of management seems to be populated by apparently psychotic individuals who are prepared to go to any length to achieve their personal ambition. This leads to a micro-managed, risk averse environment where the very things that a university stands for - innovation, invention, open-mindedness - are discouraged in case something rocks the boat of the particular psychotic manager within whose purview something may occur. So the very things that are supposed to make a place of higher education a... well... a place of higher education, are quashed to protect someone's ambition. 

But I digress. Niall Ferguson, in his excellent expose of the degeneration of modern institutions, maintains that the four key drivers of our modern western world are Democracy, Capitalism, the Rule of Law, and Civil Society. If these are the pillars of 500 years of civilised development, it seems that we may be witnessing the death throes of at least one or two - in what I would call their pure form. 

Churchill famously quoted an unknown author in 1947 when he said: "Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time...". It is my melancholy impression that this "...least worst..." form of government has been molested, corrupted and gamed for the good of the psychotics in our midst who would manipulate it for their own benefit, oblivious to the tragedy that befalls their unwitting victims. I cannot help the image of Clive Palmer coming to mind, but also at a local level, the flamboyant, reckless and apparently corrupt Salim Mehajer of Auburn Council infamy, is also an example of the gaming of democracy for their own benefit. Unfortunately Niall Ferguson is not enthusiastic about the prospect for renewing our "...least worse..." system. Perhaps he is old as I am am and has lost optimism. It seems the lunatics have taken over the asylum when it comes to democracy.

So what about the second pillar, Capitalism? While it may seem superficially to be "business as usual", over my lifetime I have seen a move away from what I would call granular capitalism towards a system that is far more ... shall I say 'chunky". Yes, I know it isn't a finely tuned theoretical construct, but this is a blog, not a dissertation (although it may be by the time I'm through...). What do I mean by "chunky"? It is the juggernaut of transnational mega corporations supplanting - even annihilating - the individual entrepreneur who was content with the corner store. 

It started with American corporations gathering up Australian and other parochial long-established companies like Victa lawn mowers, Golden Circle juices and Arnotts biscuits, and is now evident as European behemoths and, more lately, Chinese leviathans gradually pick off useful targets to feed their growing populations as well as the cavernous wallets of their owners. Kim Stanley Robinson many years ago wrote an intriguing series about the establishment of a colony on Mars, and the eventual terra-forming of that planet, fit for human habitation. I enjoyed the first two books in the series, but couldn't bring myself to complete the third, as it depicted a Mars that, while now suitable for humans to live on, was corrupted by trans-planetary corporations that didn't just control the government, but the daily lives of individuals. What had started out with such hope degenerated into a morass of misery. It seems to me that we are well down that road at a global level today, and the glitz and glamour of marketing does its best to distract and convince us that we have some control. 

No, I'm not clinically depressed. Nor am I a nihilist. What does gladden me is the faithful few like the ICIJ who seek to shine light into the dark and murky world of the rich and powerful who would like to keep their avaricious activities away from the judgement and condemnation of the community. More power to them and their ilk.

Ole blackie

When wandering through my files I found this poem that I penned in 2010. I'm glad to say that the feelings that are evident in the poem are no longer present. I'd encourage anyone who is experiencing similar feelings to seek help sooner rather than later...

Ole blackie

Why the sigh?

Why the sadness?

Why the darkness?

Despair.

This life is good!

This life is full!

This life it beckons!

To be more full!

But underneath he sits;

Underneath he growls;

Underneath he knows;

That I hold but by a thread.

In the midst of a crowd;

In the bustling city life;

In the noisy public house;

Aloneness.

A bright face!

A noisy laugh!

A witty interject!

A fancy act.

The darkness sees.

The silence hears.

The mute scream.

They know.

So energy expends

Work harder!

Smile wider!

Be jolly.

But Ole Blackie remains.

The faithful hound.

The companion of life.

My “best friend”?

Different days, different people

Friday. Janette & I intended to leave Saturday for a couple of weeks camping in her brother's camper trailer. The intention was to head west towards Moree, enjoy the artesian spas there for a couple of days and then to head north and see where we ended up. Note "the intention". In the middle of packing the car I recieved a telephone call from Southern Cross University. "Great news, your practicum has been approved. It starts next week." Gulp. A little horse trading and the start was pushed out until Tuesday. "Let's just do Moree". Agreed. "Let's leave now instead of Saturday". Agreed.

So off we set after a quick lunch. We discussed along the way the merits of trying make Moree that day - at least 6 hours; or just Glen Innes - around 4 hours; or just Jackadgery - around 3 hours. We decided the latter, and duly arrived at what can only be described as a pretty basic caravan camp ground in an idyllic setting on the banks of the Mann River, in the middle of nowhere. Did I mention it became very cold as soon as the sun set? Did I mention that we discovered we had brought a lightweight single bed doona instead of the larger heavy duty variety? Just on dark, along came big Mick. With tattoos, a face that showed its various knocks, and a voice like gravel, he assured us of our welcome and that if we needed anything we merely had to ask. So with baited breath I asked if he knew where we could borrow a decent doona. Without hesitation he immediately said "I'll bring one in a moment". In a few minutes he returned with a large, very warm doona and invited us to the campfire after dinner. We showed up at the campfire, we were introduced to other guests, and enjoyed a rollicking nights comaraderie followed by a warm night of sleep.

Saturday saw us return the doona, travel to Moree, where we purchased our own version of Mick's warm doona, and settle into site 42 at the caravan park. We enjoyed a nice lunch, and an exploratory trip into town. While sitting with a warming cuppa, there suddenly appeared two caravans with puzzled occupants. "sorry, they said, but we are on site 42". As we investigated, we discovered we were on the wrong site 42. Despite dropping some hints that we were all set up, and it might be convenient if we could just swap sites, the caravanners were insistent that they had right of occupancy on this particular site 42. We quickly packed up the camper trailer and moved to the other site 42.

There are a number of questions about this. One is about how a caravan park can have more than one site with the same number. I'll leave that for my feedback form. Another is how we managed to get lost on a caravan park. I'll work on that later.

What struck me most was how different the two experiences were. The first was one where someone did what they didn't have to do to assist us. The second was one where someone didn't do what he could have done to avoid unnecessary inconvenience for a fellow traveller. The first chap looked like he belonged to the Hells Angels. The second looked like a retired school teacher. It has been another lesson in not judging a book by its cover. I know whose campfire I'd prefer to share. May I be a little more like my new mate Mick.

Chine Southern Airlines - don't

China Southern airlines (CSA)

I returned to Australia from the UK on New Years Day 2013. I wondered why the ticket price was hundreds of pounds cheaper than anything else. I didnt have long to wonder...

CSA is trying to set themselves up as a serious international carrier... The following was written in the first 90 minutes of my first flight with CSA (Beijing to Guangzhou). While I was forced to complete my trip to Australia on a second flight, they will be my last with CSA.

Before we boarded...
Total confusion boarding at gate. Staff member called for another flight, & only when remaining waiting passengers - all European - asked about their flight were they advised to queue, then loaded onto a bus in minus nine degrees with 10 knot wind at each end of the bus journey.

Food

• Congealed Minced chicken balls with rice - tasteless
• Pickled diced vegetables on the side - unchewable
• A drink that was written in Chinese & gave no indication at all from the artwork what might be inside & appeared to have been filled under pressure as the foil lid was taut
• A random piece of dried apricot
• Tiny, tinny plastic knife & fork that were useless
• Featureless round white bread role - no butter

Beer... More diuretic than taste. (This indeed is an unforgivable sin on a long-haul flight...)

Entertainment
Monitors didn't work for safety announcement with audio only in Chinese, and afterwards played Chinese opera whether you wanted to view/listen or not (monitors unfortunately worked for this...).

Contrast
Previous KLM code share flights from Edinburgh & Amsterdam into Beijing had excellent service, food & timeliness.  CSA by contrast  complete opposite.

Danger!!!!
While serving food ... A passenger who was returning to her seat was blocked by the food trolley. Even tho it was only one row away from the galley, the male steward suggested the poor woman try & squeeze between the trolley and seats, rather than clear the way for her. Oh... And anytime the food trolleys are moving, keep your body parts away from the aisle - apparently CSA hasn't trained their staff how to move trolleys without crashing them into seat arms.

But wait!
Then we landed in Beijing, where the passengers were separated into those transiting (us), and those terminating. We were shepherded into an adjoining corridor, given a new boarding pass and a big blue sticker that was placed on your shirt, and told to wait (male Chinese staff member plonked it onto the chest of men & women alike...). Chinese staff member disappears and replaced by an armed security officer. Nearly 45 minutes later - without any communication in the meantime - we were herded into a bus & taken to another terminal. We went through immigration & customs, and we were then ordered to go to the... Departure lounge to await the bus back to the plane!!!! Finally back in the same seat I left 2 hours ago, and await with bated breath the next installment!

The Public House

Since arriving in the UK, I have joined Meetup (www.meetup.com/) - see the footnote for an explanation of the organisation (if it can be called that!). My daughter Annie suggested I look it up, and I discovered a whole host of different groups that use Meetup as a sort of hub to suggest interests, and find others who are of similar mind.

I've joined three so far. Some of my friends won't be surprised to know that I've joined a humanist group, a skeptics group, and (actually this might surprise a few!) a non-fiction book group.

Where do these groups meet? Mainly pubs. And since I've attended, I've become reacquainted with just why we call them "pubs". Because they are "public houses".

On Tuesday nine people attended the non-fiction book group, some having read the book all the way through, some about half way through, and some not at all. There was no supercilious attitude towards the non or part readers. They were welcomed for their contribution that fed off other material brought to their to mind by the discussion. 

On reflection, we seemed to spend an equal amount of time discussing the book in question (Daniel Kahneman's "Thinking, fast & slow" - quite fascinating in bits), other books that might be like it or better, miscellaneous subjects, and finally, and perhaps most importantly to some (not me, of course...), the merits of the "malt of the moment". 

Our meeting place is the Blue Blazer pub in Edinburgh. As I half listened to the conversations around me, I glanced around the room we were in. I realised that the previous meeting also featured the same groups of other people in the room. There was a group discussing a European film they had seen at the Filmhouse Theatre down the road; a small group of men were discussing fatherhood; and finally there were a group of young women earnestly discussing gender orientation and implications. 

All of us had chosen to use this "public space" in which to meet together to discuss ideas, support one another, and to develop bonds. The fact that social lubrication was consumed - in apparently responsible quantities judging by the behaviour - perhaps made the discussion flow more freely. 

I had been told that British pubs were different to Aussie pubs, and finally it has dawned on me how important these places are to so many people. Of course there is debate raging in Britain about binge drinking and over-consumption of alcohol, and those problems are evident in some of the local bars around where I live. However, when used in the best spirit (pardon the pun) the pub can be a "public house" for education and friendship, and a place to encourage new ideas. 

________________________________________________________________

Meetup is the world's largest network of local groups. Meetup makes it easy for anyone to organize a local group or find one of the thousands already meeting up face-to-face. More than 9,000 groups get together in local communities each day, each one with the goal of improving themselves or their communities.

Meetup's mission is to revitalize local community and help people around the world self-organize. Meetup believes that people can change their personal world, or the whole world, by organizing themselves into groups that are powerful enough to make a difference.

Contrasts

Second to the Edinburgh Castle, the Scott Monument dominates the centre of Edinburgh. In the two weeks leading up to Remembrance Day on Sunday 11th November, I noticed that the garden around the monument, was gradually populated with little crosses, each bearing a poppy. Each cross was reverently placed into the soft turf by volunteers, and every now and again there were signs denoting a particular area in memory of the fallen for a region, a battalion or other special group. Visitors wandered around the paths, obviously moved by the display.

For at least a week the air was filled with the sounds of mournful bagpipes as volunteer pipers busked for donations towards the poppy appeal (www.poppyscotland.org.uk). Bus shelters showed pictures of injured soldiers, kilts became commonplace, and even the homeless begging on the streets changed their cardboard signs to indicate they were returned soldiers.

The day culminated in marches, the obligatory minute's silence, and even more proudly-worn kilts and knobbly knees. I was impressed just how the spirit of sacrifice was observed, how seriously it was taken, how reverently people remembered the fallen. I confess I was out on the water at 11am that day, and too busy trying to get the jib trimmed just right...

Imagine my surprise the day after when I alighted the 26 Clerton-bound bus outside the Scott Monument to see cardboard boxes strewn around the grass, with those tenderly placed crosses being unceremoniously rooted out of the ground and dumped into the boxes. I paused in astonishment to confirm that there was definitely no reverence, tenderness or respect. They had done their job and it was time to dispose of them. I was, to say the least, surprised.

The following day, the bus I was on followed into town what appeared to be a fairground truck carrying a carousel. As the bus ground to a halt outside the Scott Monument I realised that the carousel truck was turning into the monument gardens ahead of us. When I looked further I noticed that not only was the carousel truck in the gardens, but that all the garden benches had been collected into a pile, and there were collections of panels, portable toilets, and more machinery all over the gardens. As the next few days progressed a massive Ferris Wheel took shape alongside the monument, as well as various other fairground attractions.


I was quite literally gob-smacked. All the reverence and care leading up to Remembrance Day was wiped out within a few hours and replaced with - frivolity? 

It has taken me a while to get my head around it. At one level it seemed something akin to sacrilege to treat the gardens in such diametrically opposed ways. I have come to resolve it as a powerful demonstration of what has been made possible through the soldiers' sacrifice: peace in this country, and the freedom and safety to enjoy oneself. I'm not sure what you make of this tale. Perhaps others will have perspectives that help me understand it further.