Review - When America Stopped Being Great

 

Outsiders are often in a better position than resident nationals to understand trends in a nation's political culture. In the case of Nick Bryant, a Bristol-born Brit writing about the US political scene, this is clear to the reader. This is a revealing, frightening, and thought-provoking work. 

His 2020 account of the rise of Donald Trump explains and rationalises the most recent developments in the USA and plots the rise of a new kind of politics, a phenomenon that he claims originated in the Reagan era.

He ought to know what he is talking about. He has studied politics at both Cambridge and Oxford and has a doctorate in American politics from the latter.

His view of recent events in the USA is negative - almost dystopian. He sees the widening gap between rich and poor, the festering racial divide, and government incompetence at all levels as drivers of Trump's election, and recent violence.

He writes (convincingly in my book) that the beginning of this decline can be traced back to the way in which Ronald Reagan fundamentally changed American understanding of the office of President. He posits that Reagan dumbed the office down and transformed it into a celebrity performance rather than a leadership and governance role.

He writes that Reagan was very much a part-time president who relied on speechwriters and assistants to do the actual work of administration and made up memes that were usually based on a scripted narrative often separated a great distance from reality. Reagan then played his starring role.

One example of this was his use of the story of Martin Treptow, a soldier of Cherokee heritage who was killed in World War One on the Western Front. The whole point of Reagan's address, delivered at Arlington National Cemetery, was that it was delivered over Treptow's tomb. The fact that Treptow was actually buried in Wisconsin was not allowed to detract from the narrative. The script was what mattered, not the history. Pat Buchanan, White House Communications Director under Reagan, summed him up pretty well -

For Ronald Reagan, the world of legend and myth is the real world. He visits it regularly, and he's a happy man there.

In that, Trump resembles Reagan, in that he invented a narrative all of his own, anchored in reality TV, which he proceeded to sell to his audience. The problem in this, of course, is that the myth requires little encouragement to develop a life of its own, and we saw the culmination of this on January 6th, 2021 at the Capitol.

It is possible to fool some of the people some of the time using a fictional narrative, especially in the USA. Orson Welles' famous broadcast is historical evidence of this, as is the contemporary QAnon phenomenon.

Bryant walks the reader through the Bush Senior and Clinton eras, using his thesis about the underlying and developing malaise in American culture as the thread that ties the history of their administrations together. His explanation of Bush senior's one-term presidency is convincing. The reader begins to understand how a dignified and competent President loses out to a narrative spun by individuals like Buchanan, ultimately delivering a slick Southerner with a penchant for interns to the White House. The story becomes so strong that it crosses partisan lines. An important aspect of this progression is the separation between the scripted meme and the performance in office of the President, a trend that continued through the Obama era, and which made the election of a snake-oil merchant like Trump to the White House almost inevitable.

Bryant's writing style is journalistic, personal, anecdotal, and punchy, and this adds weight to his conclusions. He writes that if America was ever great, it was fleeting greatness. It has been hampered by confrontation, nihilism, and corroded by racial tension and inequality.

The last sentence of his last chapter is not encouraging -

Alas, I fear more American carnage, regardless of who occupies the White House.

I hope he's wrong.

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The Hitchhiker

 

Pic Courtesy The Sun. Not my hitchhiker.

Every now and again, something entirely unexpected and blessed happens.

This morning, as is my habit, I drove to my local Coffee shop for a takeaway. As I was getting back in the car, coffee in hand, I was addressed by an elderly woman who was looking quite agitated.

She asked me whether I was turning right or left when I left the car park.  It was left, which turned out to be the wrong option for her. She had missed her bus and was hoping I could get ahead of it on the route, which would have involved a right turn.

I asked her where she was going. She was on the way for an important appointment with her optometrist in the CBD. As I had nothing pressing to do, I offered to give her a lift, wondering whether she'd, first of all, be able to get into my car, and then get out of it at the destination. 

MX5s are AIF* vehicles, after all.

I must look pretty harmless as, after a small protest, she accepted my invitation, although I had to convince her that I actually enjoyed driving the car. It was only a few clics out of my way. 

And I had the top down, and it was pretty cool (-1, the coldest day so far this year).

 I put her walking frame in the boot. Fortunately, it folded, although it took me a minute or two to figure out how it worked. The MX5 has a very small boot. 

We set off for the CBD, and then followed an amazing conversation. This woman was 93, apparently in good health apart from cataracts (the reason for her appointment), and had lived a remarkable life.

She was the mother of three, had two postgraduate qualifications, had started her own successful business in partnership with her lawyer husband, and was a pioneer in the development of a very active Toowoomba charity.

Her husband died about ten years ago, and she had only retired from active work at age 92. That retirement was forced on her because her failing eyesight meant she had to hand her driver's licence in. The paucity of public transport in Toowoomba was an ongoing problem for her, and a barrier to an independent life, and it was quickly apparent to me that her independence was very important.

She had published two books and told me she was in the process of writing another.

We arrived at the optometrist, and after I had retrieved the frame from the boot and reassembled it on her instructions, she got herself out of the car without needing my help.

I told her I had also written a book which was on sale at Dymocks and she promised to buy it. I'm not sure that a memoir about national service would be all that interesting to a nonagenarian, but there you go.

I sincerely hope I'm as spry if I get to 93.

*Arse In First.

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Not Quite the Washup

Pic courtesy healthychildren.org

Let's look at the pandemic fourteen months in. 

 I consider it fourteen months, because my nephew's wedding was fourteen months ago, and it was one of the last weddings held before the local restrictions arrived. 

On a personal note, my family, with the exception of our youngest daughter weathered it without too many hassles. It completely ruined her great adventure, although she was able to do the UK festival circuit and visit Portugal and Iceland before she was anchored by the lockdown. 

 Because my bride and I are both retired, it didn’t affect our work lives, but it stymied some travel plans, including a fifty-year reunion and commemoration organised by my old unit. As a consequence of that, and another canceled trip, I have what one of the airlines calls a “travel wallet”. The trouble is that the wallet is in their pocket, and not mine. 

 More broadly, I have become very familiar with Zoom and was using it twice weekly for gym and my old geezers’ meetings. We’re back to the gym in person now, and our early morning chats over coffee have reverted to the face-to-face format, although we had to wear masks during the most recent Queensland short and sharp lockdown. 

After watching what schools were going through, I'm very glad I'm no longer a school principal. They were caught between the demands of their school communities and the restrictions imposed by the Health and Education bureaucracies. 

 It’s amazing how quickly we have become accustomed to signing into venues, and to doing the hand sanitising thing. The emphasis on hygiene must be working. Nobody in the family has had so much as a cough or sniffle since 2019. 

I kid you not. 

 The other unexpected bonus was my Astra-Zeneca vaccination a few weeks ago. There were absolutely no side effects, and my routine morning backache has disappeared since. It’s probably a coincidence, but I’ll take it. 

Another bonus is the rapid rise in the value of my classic car. Apparently, because punters can no longer travel, they're spending their dosh on cars and home renovations.

 The national and international outcomes have not been so benign. The tragic statistics in Italy, France, and the UK have been overshadowed by chaos in the USA, Brazil, and now India. On the other hand, the most populous country in the world seems to have come out of it better than most. 

Our governments, both state and federal have made a pretty good job of managing outbreaks, despite obvious weaknesses in our hotel quarantine system. Howard Springs works, and I don't understand why more remote locations close to airports aren't utilised. 

There seems to be an inverse correlation between the pandemic being used as a political wedge, and the health of the population. The statistics in the USA and Brazil bear this out. 

 Leadership has also played a part. Populists (Trump, Bolsonaro, and Modi) who put their political profile before the health of their populations have visited a dreadful result on their people. One of them (Trump) has paid the political price, and it looks as if Bolsonaro is heading down that same track. It’s too early to tell whether Modi will lose his gloss. 

 One thing is certain. The virus has changed everything. We now have a Coalition government happy to borrow extensively, despite the fact that when Labor did the same during the GFC it became a “debt and deficit disaster”. 

 Who would have thunk it?

As observed earlier, the virus is an asteroid.

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Vietnam Requiem

I'm posting this because I reckon it's worth attending, especially for Vietnam veterans.

I know a few lurk here.

From the promo -

This concert was created by some of Australia’s leading composers and will be performed by Little Pattie, Normie Rowe, John Schumann, the RMC Duntroon Band, Canberra Symphony Orchestra and choirs. It will take audiences on a musical journey, with 12 popular songs from the era and orchestral movements that will respond to stories or events that shaped our perceptions or experiences. 

In honouring service and acknowledging pain, dislocation and the terrible cost of war, the Vietnam Requiem will be performed as a gift to our veterans.

It may also help in the process of reconciliation.

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American Policing

 

 Pic courtesy Wikipedia

The picture above is relevant in terms of the ongoing debate about policing across the Pacific.

It was taken in Brisbane in early 1942 about the time of the Battle of Brisbane which resulted from tensions between Americans and Australians in general, and American MPs and Australian soldiers in particular.

The swaggering pose, and the behaviour that went with it, is what irritated military Australians, particularly those who were stationed in Brisbane at the time.

Now I'm no expert on the US, but I did spend some time there a few years ago, and what made a lasting impression was the contrast between Australian and American policing.

First up, there were so many different police forces on the streets of both Washington and New York, where I spent the bulk of my time. No doubt the big cities aren't representative of the whole country, but it's fair to compare what is obvious on the streets of say Sydney and Brisbane with what observable in New York. The first impression is of the noise they make. Sirens are everywhere, and each police force seems to have its own dedicated siren tone.

It was not unusual to see two or three different police squads, from different jurisdictions, on one street block. This is unsurprising when you understand that there are over 500 different law enforcement agencies in that state. 

They also wear different uniforms, although all are militaristic in appearance.

But what is immediately obvious to a visiting Australian is the swagger and intimidation generated by their presence. They appear to intentionally promote an image of power and force which is unique to the metropolitan USA.

I have no doubt that this swagger and intimidation is what got under the skin of Diggers in 1942. It hasn't changed and is obviously cultural.

It is easy to understand the current controversy when you compare. Our coppers can be arrogant and intimidatory, but I have seen little of that, even though sidearms, uniforms, and demeanour have changed enormously here in my lifetime.

I guess if you are plod in the USA, and you know that every punter could be carrying a concealed firearm, you'd be toey.

The Americans, with their insane gun laws, have made their bed, and I guess they'll have to sleep in it. 

Let's hope we maintain the NFA.

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Anniversary of a Tragedy

Today is the 51st anniversary of the tragic death of Graham Kavanagh from 6 Platoon, B Company, 7 RAR, who died from severe dehydration at the beginning of our second operation. 

Karl Metcalf, ex-platoon commander 4 Platoon, has published experts from the recently released second edition of Seven in Seventy on the battalion's Facebook page. 

With thanks and acknowledgment to Karl, I'll reproduce these excerpts here, as a tribute to Graham and all 7 RAR soldiers who were lost during our tour.

(You can enlarge the images by clicking on them).

 

May he rest in peace.

Golf...

Image courtesy Liveabout

This blog has been a bit neglected of late, as I've been meeting a deadline for a research submission. That's done, so now I can concentrate on more essential activities. 

 Many of my friends and acquaintances play this strange game which requires them to buy lots of gear and lump it around for an hour or two, chasing a strange little dimpled ball that doesn't bounce very well and is easy to lose. 

 Some of them have even spent an arm and a leg on battery-powered mobility devices which remove the only rational reason to play the silly game - that of getting some exercise. I played golf once - or to be more accurate a couple of times. 

My eye-hand coordination has never been great and combined with clubs that are too long, a ball that is too small, and a tiny sweet spot on the end of said club, it's not my game. 

 The last time I played a round of golf (I think it's called a "round") was in Mount Isa in 1994. There used to be a pretty good course in the Isa, kept beautifully green (if a little on the nose) by recycled sewage. They have a website, so it's still there. 

The occasion was the North-West Region Principals' conference and the three-day formal proceedings were rounded off with a golf competition. I attended in my capacity as a member of the regional administrative team and was expected to front up at the clubhouse like everybody else. I cast around desperately to find an excuse to give the competition a miss but was unsuccessful. 

Given that I was the first to tee off, and did so in front of the assembled principals from all North-West schools, I was determined to avoid an air swing. In that I was successful. Club struck ball with a satisfying "thwack", and the ball went straight down the middle of the fairway. Unfortunately, so did the club (It was called a "driver" by the way - I know this stuff). It was a warm afternoon, and my hands were sweating. The driver did a slow and graceful loop and finished up a few metres above the ground in a eucalypt. I can't actually remember where the ball finished up, but I got a round of applause when I climbed the tree and retrieved the club from one of the lower branches. 

 I had hoped the incident (witnessed by about thirty people) had been forgotten. 

Not so. 

When I was appointed to a principal's job in Toowoomba in 1996, I continued to attend principals' conferences. At one, (in 2003 from memory) I was greeted by a colleague who like me, had made the journey south and was now working in Dalby. 

He greeted me with "Gidday, Bob - How's the golf?" This was nine years after the event. I had obviously made a deep and lasting impression.

 I did play golf a bit in the North-west. Night golf at Windorah was interesting. The wallabies come out at night, and even though the ball was visible on account of a little glowing plug inserted through it, the wallabies weren't. 

I can't remember what the penalty was for a wallaby strike...

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