Things I'd Forgotten

A recent Facebook post from my nephew who works with indigenous communities in the NT revived some long dormant memories. He was pictured surrounded by a group of local women sitting around a table decorated with aboriginal motifs.

This reminded me of a painting which a similar group of wise women presented to me when I left Mount Isa in 1996 after working in Indigenous Education out there for four years.

These women taught me so much. They were part of what was called the NATSIEP* advisory committee for North-West region. It was my job, as secretary of the committee, to convene meetings on behalf of the Regional Executive Director, assist them in allocating funding support on the basis of submissions from schools, and ensure the business of the meetings was conducted properly, and the necessary follow-up occurred. This follow-up comprised school projects designed to meet the 21 goals of NATSIEP.

I had to learn on the job. I became familiar with all the communities (Birdsville, Bedourie, Boulia, Urandangi, Dajarra, Camooweal and Mt Isa itself). I shared their dreams, frustrations and aspirations for the children in these schools, and travelled literally thousands of kilometres with them on the way to and from meetings and school visits.

We stayed overnight in various basic accommodation (usually bush pubs) and shared meals and talk before and after the meetings. We didn’t share any drinks – they were all teetotal.

On the long car journeys they’d talk about their work, families and experiences. Almost all of them had lived hard, demanding lives in harsh conditions and without the material benefits that I had become used to.

Without exception, they were giving their time and energy for their people, and their passion for improving the lot of the children in their communities was strong. They didn’t always agree with me, or understand the bureaucratic restrictions I had to work under, but we could have a stoush and remain good friends. I don’t remember developing such a strong respect for any group I’ve worked with anywhere else in the forty years I was with the department.

For me, the sad part was that they were all women – the men from the communities, for a range of reasons, were never to be seen. Their women made up for it. Listening to their stories of abandonment, loss and deprivation sometimes made me angry.

Lately, this anger returned when I watched the reactions of a few conservative commentators who made big fellows of themselves around the time of the apology by denying that any children were ever stolen.

The contrast between the spite and cant of those commentators and the grace and dignity of these women is stark.

Thanks for reminding me, Nick.

* National Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islander Education Policy

We've Changed

It might be interesting to compare how refugee boat arrivals were reported back in the eighties and how this has changed since the Tampa incident in 2001.

The picture is from a collection in the State Library of South Australia. It shows a headline from The News reporting on a possible influx of people on boats from Vietnam. Imagine the headlines if the major dailies got wind of 40 boats on the way these days. There'd be more than "Govt Concern". We'd have macho posturing, opinion pieces about terror threats and the words "hard" and "soft" would be used often and with intent.

There's a strong contrast between the tone and language of reports from this era with what we are seeing now. In the seventies and eighties the emphasis is on the plight of the refugees, and the perils they faced on their journey. Most of the reporting is sympathetic and there is very little of it that gives the impression that they were seen as a threat. The concern was more about Australia’s capacity to manage them.

Of course, back then the approach was essentially bi-partisan, which is particularly interesting, given the state of the relationship between the two sides of politics after the Dismissal.

Obviously, there has been a major change in perceptions.

I’d venture to suggest that it may have a lot to do with the actions of John Howard at the time of the rescue of a boatload of refugees by the MV Tampa in August 2001.

Howard very skilfully harnessed fear of terrorists as a political weapon, and the timing of the 9/11 attacks, shortly after this incident drove the issue to a point where it had a major influence of the 2001 federal poll. Howard quite cynically used the issue to present his government as protecting Australians from unspecified threats from the North.

This cut deeply into the Australian psyche, and left scars that will take a long time to heal.

It’s sad, really, because part of what makes us Australian is our easy-going tolerance of people, especially those in need, and our capacity, demonstrated over the years to welcome and assimilate new arrivals.

Howard created a monster back in 2001.I hope I live long enough to see it consigned to history.

Hero Driver

We travelled to Brisbane yesterday using the section of the Warrego Highway that has to be one of the most dangerous stretches of road in the country.

It’s dangerous because of two poorly engineered sections – one at the beginning of the journey east from Toowoomba – the other towards the end of it. The range section (locally known as the “Toll Bar”) is dodgy because of the mix of slow and faster moving traffic compressed by a very steep descent. It takes an enormous volume of heavy traffic which also passes through the centre of town.

Many of the trucks refuel at Toowoomba, and as they head down the range, the slope causes distillate to spill from poorly-sealed tanks on to the road surface, which is often damp and slippery to start with. This is particularly bad in the early hours of the morning when dew sets in, but it can be risky at any time. A mixture of distillate and water is used to create a skid pan for advanced driver training, so you can imagine the effect on a steep public road.

The second risky bit is the Ipswich bypass, which is overcrowded, narrow, and infested with trucks. The speed limit has been dropped from 100kph to 90kph, and this has helped a little. It means that the B Double sitting two metres from your rear bumper will hit with a little less force before it punts you into oncoming traffic. They are spending squillions on it as I write.

We went down the range with no dramas – it was waiting to bite us on the return journey – but we had a lucky escape on the bypass. We were tooling along at 90km when, out of nowhere, a Toyota 4WD ute crossed the median strip and was heading straight for us. The driver’s head seemed buried in something in his lap – probably a mobile phone. In my experience, tradies are the worst offenders when it comes to using phones on the go. The thing had bucked and bounced its way across a drainage trench, but had remained upright.

I flicked the wheel violently to the left, and he went behind us. I waited for the sound of an impact because there was following traffic, but none came. He was lucky, and so was everyone else involved. The result of a combined impact of two vehicles travelling at 90kph would not have been pretty. It took quite a while for the adrenaline to subside. My bride actually swore – a rare occurrence.

On the return journey that afternoon, we arrived at the bottom of the range to discover the eastbound lane completely closed, with police and emergency vehicles everywhere. Apparently a truck had come to grief on the way down, taking two other vehicles with it. Eastbound traffic was diverted into one of the westbound lanes, and chaos ensued. Our ascent took three quarters of an hour. It usually takes 5 minutes.

The local rag hailed the driver as a “hero”. I wonder what kind of “hero” takes a heavy vehicle with dodgy brakes down a steep and crowded public road? The cabin had “Afterburner” writ large across the front. Obviously this “hero” has delusions that he drives a fighter jet.

The police have impounded the truck.

I hope they throw the book at him.

(Photo courtesy of the Toowoomba Chronicle).

Lateral Solution

I was asked by a school the other day to provide a recommendation about a year eight boy who was enrolled in a music elective.

He has Cerebral Palsy (hemiplegia), and although he operates with the characteristic enthusiasm and optimism of most 14 year-olds, playing the guitar as a member of an ensemble is an issue. He was getting stroppy and asking to be excused from music.

He’s a real bush kid, interested in Rugby League, riding his quad bike and chilling out with his (many) friends at school. The school is what is called a “high school top” in this part of the world, meaning that it’s a bush primary school with a small secondary department attached. Consequently, the teacher taking music is not a “music” teacher as such, but a general teacher who is teaching music as an elective.

I arranged to talk with him one-on-one to establish two things - what he could actually manage with the guitar, and whether the disability was being used as an excuse to escape a less-preferred activity. This kind of thing happens, and it’s always in the mind of a mean and suspicious old codger like yours truly. I also had a view that he may not be at all interested in music.

How wrong I was! He produced a good quality guitar (which he’s owned for a few years) with a fancy strap, which he handled with something approaching reverence. He showed me the two different ways he’d experimented with holding and playing it. He could play it OK, but whichever job he gave to the hemi hand (strumming or keying) it had trouble keeping up with the good hand. When playing solo, this was not a problem, but the class was doing ensemble work, and anyway, the teacher simply had to have him practicing/playing with the others to make the class manageable.

He also gave me a ten-minute lecture on up and coming bush bands. Some of this was vaguely familiar. My youngest daughter is interested in the same stuff. I was wrong about his interest in music. He had it in spades.

So he wasn’t put off by playing the guitar, but he was embarrassed because he was always half a beat behind the others. I explained this to the teacher, but apart from suggesting that he be put on a keyboard to provide a bass for the ensemble (advice from my music teacher sister) I wasn’t very helpful. I thought this might allow her to keep him included.

At least, as an objective outsider, I was able to confirm that he wasn’t simply being obstinate.

I phoned the school yesterday, because I’d thought some more and had come up with a few other ideas. I ended up talking to the deputy. “It’s OK“, she said, “we’ve come up with a solution“.

This lad and his teacher had worked out that he could use the school’s only electric guitar as a bass guitar. They’d developed the keyboard idea and improved on it. The advantage of this was that everyone else had to keep to his tempo.

The group sounds great, and he’s become the vital ingredient in the little band they’re building. There’s talk of making a CD.

There’s a metaphor in this somewhere.

Granite Country

South of my days' circle, part of my blood's country, rises that tableland, high delicate outline of bony slopes wincing under the winter, low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite- clean, lean, hungry country.

We’ve just returned from a spell in Judith Wright’s granite country.

Despite the fact that it’s nominally spring, there were frosts in the morning, and a fire was necessary at night.

It’s hard, flinty country, where they grow rocks with spectacular success. There are lots of boulder farms. Boulder farms are like prickle farms in the sense that a successful product is assured despite the season.

Lately, the season hasn’t been too good. Fires are a problem, and this country burns pretty well with the wind behind it.

Apart from the boutique wineries, and the national park, Stanthorpe is well worth a visit. It’s a community untypical of Queensland country towns – partly, I’m sure as a consequence of a thriving Italian influence. Whilst most of these families are third or fourth generation Australians, they maintain the entrepreneurial spirit of their immigrant parents, and there is a style and flair not apparent in other places.

I like the plonk up here, and my bride enjoys the countryside. We were able to tour the wineries with the roof down, and that provided a feast for the senses. It was just cool enough to be bracing, and the sun was pleasant whilst driving until about 10am.

The problem, of course, is that the driver can’t taste, so it pales somewhat.

The solution, I’m sure would be to resurrect an idea from the twenties – the charabanc. The marketing possibilities are endless. One of the Stanthorpe entrepreneurs should pick it up.

Yoof

I've been a bit quiet on the blog recently, having been to the mountains and back - but that's another story.

Last week I disposed of a trailer, which was excess to requirements now that all offspring have left home, and there is no longer a need to own something capable of moving books, CD's, computer games, bed and desk in one hit.

I'd bought a tradie's trailer for this and it was well-suited to the job being secure, waterproof (it always rains when we shift) and about the right size. I also thought that it would be relatively easy to sell when the time came, and I was right.

After only one day's advertising, I had a call last Sunday from a young carpenter (who called me "mate") wanting to come around and have a look at it. He turned up, driving a diesel ute with P plates, and looked about 18 or 19. He hailed from out of town, so was anxious to get the deal done and tow the trailer home.

We agreed on a price - very little haggling occurred, and he presented me with cash. He was $100 short, so went out to talk to the "missus" (his term - she was about his age) who was sitting decoratively in the ute, and returned with the extra dosh. The only slight complication was an incompatible trailer cable, but he went to Supacheap and bought one. We sorted the rego transfer, I gave him a receipt, and he drove away with the missus and trailer. I put the four figure cash amount in a safe place until I could bank it on Monday.

When I got to the credit union the next morning I discovered that he's given me $100 more than what I'd thought we'd agreed to, and what I had written on the receipt. We'd counted the initial sum together, but not the extra bit from the missus.

I phoned him - and he said that there must have been a misunderstanding, as he paid me what he thought I'd asked, and there was no need for me to refund the $100 which I told him I was prepared to do. All he wanted was for me to amend the receipt - for his tax.

I posted him an amended receipt.

On reflection, I read all sorts of doom and gloom about the current generation and their fast and loose lifestyles. Maybe.. but my experience, through my own kids and the young people (mostly teachers and therapists) that I work with, tells me otherwise.

This young tradie is another example.

It's always easier for cranky old buggers to be negative than positive about Millenials, but maybe if we looked for the good stuff, we'd find it. There are a few bloggers of the far right persuasion who need to consider this.

Entitlement

The English language is a wonderful tool. The derivation of the term “entitlement” is an example. The "titled" part of it intrigues me.

One of the dictionary benefits of the term is –

the right to guaranteed benefits under a government program, as Social Security or unemployment compensation

Connecting with many of my fellow section members a few weeks ago has alerted me to the fact that I am one of only a couple of these blokes who is still working and hasn’t been forced on to some form of benefit as a result of operational service. In my mind this indicates two things – one is that I’ve been very lucky – the other is that it provides sad evidence of one of the often-overlooked outcomes of war.

The statistics in relation to Vietnam Veterans are no different from those out of conflicts ranging from World War One, through World War Two, Korea, and more recently, Timor Iraq, and Afghanistan.

Recent publicity about the children of a partner of an Afghanistan casualty has only reinforced the notion that when it’s all over, any compensation has to be fought for.

I completely fail to understand the mindset of many conservative commentators who advocate military adventure as the first, last and only solution to international disagreement, or in the current context, international terrorism. This reptilian brain reaction continues to hold sway with those who believe that you can destroy an idea by killing those who support it. I would have thought that the Vietnam experience might have focused some attention on this enduring myth, but it seems to have gone through to the keeper.

At least many in the military have begun to see that protection of the people and the provision of basic security is the first step to a successful counter-insurgency, and the term “victory” as applied to these conflicts continues to be used by the commentators rather than the commanders. The commanders have heard of Maslow’s hierarchy.

Apparently the commentators haven't.

But back to “entitlement”.

The word conjures up images of Lords and Ladies, royalty, and a whole heap of concepts that went out with button-up boots. It belongs to the monarchy, wigs on judges and executive car parks.

As an avowed republican, I’d like to see the term relegated to the dustbin of history.

The more accurate term is “compensation”. It’s about time two reforms were organized –

Compensation for war veterans of all conflicts should be brought into line with the benefits that accrue to ex-politicians, and the term “entitlement” should be removed from all reference to service pensions.

And perhaps, a secret ballot of all registered veterans should be held before we commit to any new conflict. That would be interesting.