Australians Can't Queue

You've heard that white men can't jump. I have discovered another great cliché. Australians can't queue.

I'm spending more time in shops about now, and given the season, these same shops are crowded. I'd like a dollar for every time I've stood waiting for a shop assistant in the middle of what could only be described as a meander of customers where there really should have been a queue.

There is something about us (Australians) that makes queuing a challenge beyond comprehension. It may have to do with our rampant individualism, our "jack is as good as his master" outlook, or maybe we are simply collectively lazy and resistant of any form of disciplined behaviour.

Whatever the reason, we seem to be condemned to milling around, offering endless frustration to retailers across the country, and generally looking untidy.

Join with me. I'm carrying a rolled-up sign around with the words "please queue here" and unfurling it at the right moment to great effect.

Try it – if nothing else, it gets a laugh or three.

The picture shows a queue in Vietnam. They're good at it.

Grief and Anger

(Pic courtesy Weekend Australian).
On Dec 12 Police shot dead 15-year-old Tyler Cassidy in Melbourne. This is the bleakest of tragedies for his family, the officers involved, and the community.

The media has provided blanket coverage, and no doubt plenty of newsprint has been sold. Most of the commentary has focussed on the behaviour of the police, and their use of firearms. Some have descended to second-guessing their actions – hardly productive. There will be a Coroner's inquest.

Not a lot has been written about the boy involved, and how he got to be in the obviously highly disturbed state that led to this dreadful outcome. Obviously, this incident developed an energy of its own, and was never completely under control. Given the training, background and equipment of the police, nor was this result surprising or unpredictable.

I've had some personal experience of attempting to deal with disturbed young men, and learned some painful lessons as a result. One of the schools in which I was principal had an enrolment of adolescents, mostly boys, with varying histories of violent behaviour and apparently irrational outbursts. There were a range of reasons for these outbursts – poorly prescribed medication, mental illness, and abuse – to name a few.

Generally, when a teacher lost control of a situation, the principal was called. I possessed no more training or experience (unless service in Vietnam counted in this context) than anyone else, but I guess I held the ultimate responsibility, so I was glad enough to be involved. These episodes weren't frequent, but they did occur from time to time. The most important goal was to ensure no-one was hurt – but I was also very keen for the other children and staff to continue their normal programme without interruption. In other words, my approach was always as low-key as possible, and I would work very hard to deprive the individual involved the opportunity to have an audience.

The only time this let me down was in trying to prevent an Autistic lad from running across a busy road. The rule we followed with this (fairly large) boy was "hands off", because he became very agitated if touched. Unfortunately, I had to grab him to prevent him running across four lanes of traffic, and finished up with a broken ankle as a result. Given that he didn't get run over, I was happy with the outcome.

On another occasion, an eleven-year old threw a desk at his teacher, stormed out of his classroom, and proceeded to rampage around the school trying to disrupt each class in turn. We used the intercom to warn staff who went into lockdown, and did their best to ignore him. I followed him at a distance of five metres hoping that he would eventually tire, and calm down. This he did, but not until he had picked up the Groundsman's pitchfork, and threw it at me, pointed end first. I side-stepped very quickly, and the five metres became ten.

When he had finally stopped yelling, screaming and throwing things (two hours later), he curled up in a foetal position in a corner, and sobbed uncontrollably. All I could do was to put my hand on his shoulder and stay with him until the sobbing stopped. He was calm enough then to apologise to the various teachers he'd abused, pick up the items thrown, and then catch the bus home. More restitution followed the next day, and I met with his mother. Fortunately, this was the one and only time he behaved this way.

The reason for the outburst? His much-loved father had died two months before. He had apparently not reacted. My guess was that he had bottled up all his grief until he could do so no longer, and the result was this outburst of rage. This was no excuse for the behaviour, but probably explained it. We organised for him to plant a tree in the school grounds in tribute to his dad, and he looked after it with enormous care and diligence.

This was not the first time I'd observed an adolescent boy dealing with grief, nor was it the first time that anger was a problem.

Tyler Cassidy's father died of cancer a few years ago.

Anniversary

For me, today (10th December) is a significant personal anniversary. On this day, thirty eight years ago, along with other 15th Intake National Servicemen, I boarded a Thai Air Force C-123 at Luscombe Field (Nui Dat, South Vietnam). We flew to Ton Son Nuit, (Saigon).

There we emplaned on a Qantas 707 for the flight home to Australia. I'd spent 298 days in country. The 707 was very different from the choppers and Caribou that had been our routine transport for twelve months. It had cabin crew (all male), and what seemed initially to be an endless supply of VB. We left the tarmac after what felt like an interminable take-off run, and the coastline of South Vietnam quickly disappeared from view. This generated a round of applause from all on board, and the good-humoured cabin crew quickly passed around the beer.

Strangely, I didn’t feel much like drinking, as I preferred to savour the immense feeling of euphoria generated by the reality of leaving the army and South Vietnam behind. The majority of my comrades, many of whom became more than a little plastered before too long, didn’t appear to share my sentiments.

By the time we reached the coast north of Darwin, most were sleeping. It was a bloody long flight. They were woken by the captain announcing the arrival of the Australian coastline which was greeted by loud applause. We refuelled in Darwin, where the atmosphere was just as humid as Vietnam. For me, it didn't feel like home.

The Darwin-Sydney flight was long and boring, and the beer was no longer available. We were told that we had consumed every drop. I wonder whether the flight crew felt an obligation to deliver their passengers in a reasonable state on arrival, and the grog was cut off accordingly. As it was, we were a motley crew, dressed in civvies for the occasion. It was easy to develop the perception that we were being brought home in secret, almost in shame, as we arrived at three in the morning with no fanfare at all. There was certainly no brass band.

Our landing in Sydney was one of the roughest I can recall in many years of air travel, but it was greeted with loud and prolonged cheering. Perhaps the captain had been into the VB. I got the impression that even if we had come in undercarriage up, and had to slide down the escape chutes, the applause would have been just as vociferous.

There was a long delay through customs, as apparently one or two diggers tried to bring disassembled AK47s in with their luggage.

When we finally emerged from customs, my two mates and I hailed a cab and asked the driver to take us to the motel my parents had booked for me. They'd also bought a seat for me on a Brisbane flight next day. What followed was my first surprise – the cabbie simply refused to take us, saying it was out of his area. Appealing to his better nature by pointing out that we were infantry soldiers returning from a tour of duty in South Vietnam cut absolutely no ice at all. He took us to a different motel, where he seemed to have some kind of enduring relationship with the proprietor. Home was a new reality.

This was my small introduction to an understanding of how those at home viewed our service. To be honest, I had no illusions about how we would be received, but it was apparent that many of my mates were expecting to be treated like conquering heroes. My parents lost their booking deposit, but this was the least of their worries – they were just happy to see me home. The army had issued me with rail vouchers that would have seen me board the Brisbane Limited to get home, but my parents chose to pay the extra for a flight to Brisbane.

It seemed ironic to me that I'd flown free from Brisbane to Williamtown two years ago at the beginning of my army training, but after twelve months of service in a war zone wasn't considered worthy of a flight home. It was a long time ago now, but this particular journey, is, on the whole, fondly remembered. This was RTA day, and for me has been ever since.

The Story that Stole Christmas

This non-story was published in Saturday's Toowoomba Chronicle -

By MADELEINE LOGAN madeleine.logan @thechronicle. com.au

Noah's Ark lesson sparks school battle.

Father of five Ron Williams has lodged a complaint with the Anti-Discrimination Commission after his five-year-old Kathleen was "illegally exposed" to bible lessons during her prep class. A Toowoomba dad sparked major controversy yesterday for removing his daughter from Gabbinbar State School after she was taught the story of Noah's Ark.

Father of five Ron Williams has lodged a complaint with the Anti-Discrimination Commission after his five-year old Kathleen was "illegally exposed" to bible lessons during her prep class. However, he insists he is "not anti-religion". The long-time campaigner against the teaching of religion in schools plans to take civil legal action against Education Queensland, principal Greg Brand and classroom teacher Trina Savio on the basis religious education in prep is against policy.

His charge peaked major media interest yesterday with Mr Wil­liams fielding calls from a New-York based journalist, in addition to several television programs. Education Queensland denies Mr Williams' claims lessons included biblical teaching. A department spokeswoman said the viewing of Evan Almighty, a Hollywood come­dy about a man who builds a repli­ca Noah's Ark, was part of a unit on animal noises. "No references to 'God' or the biblical story were made in the classroom," she said.

Mr Williams said he asked for Kathleen to be moved to an alterna­tive prep class after spotting a bookshelf full of children's biblical titles and a large cardboard replica of Noah's Ark in her classroom. He claims this request was re­fused by Mr Brand and he was thus forced to remove his child from the school. Mr Williams' two oldest children still attend Gabbinbar State School.

The boys, who moved from Middle Ridge State School when it em­ployed a chaplain, will study through distance education next year. Kathleen will attend an in­dependent Toowoomba school.

St Bartholomew's Anglican Church Reverend Richard Harris insists Evan Almighty is not a religious movie. "This incident is sad because the film is just a great story," he said. "It's got Judeo-Christian teaching in it, but it's really about the love of family and teaching people to care about others. I'm surprised this man was offended by it." Mr Brand declined to comment and directed The Chronicle to Education Queensland. The school's website says pa­rents are required to complete a form when enrolling their child giving permission for them to learn religious education.

A parent with a bee in his bonnet doesn't get his way, so he goes to the media, and finds an editor thick enough to listen. It was obviously a slow news day in Toowoomba.

There are a few parents in this town (mostly on the South side) who for reasons best known to themselves have been attacking state school principals about this issue. They are well-organised, and more than a little vindictive. They have every right to waste public servants' time in this fashion, but I am amazed at the reaction of the local media.

The scandal sheet that rejoices in the name of "Toowoomba Chronicle" put this on the front page. The report simultaneously manages to be both cliché-ridden and breathless , no mean feat for Madeleine Logan, although the heavy hand of Steve Etwell ("Editor"-in Chief) is apparent.

Etwell is best known for making snide remarks about people of middle-eastern origin and was outed in Mediawatch for this not too long ago. He obviously has managed to sleep through the first part of the twenty-first century.

You could excuse his reporter – she is relatively junior – but there is no excuse for an "Editor" to publish this type of gutter nonsense in something that pretends to be a provincial newspaper. Apart from the waste of front-page space, the last thing any school needs at this time of the year (characterised by the difficult combination of deadlines and seasonal goodwill) is incessant badgering by members of the fourth estate.

But then, Etwell is obviously a peddler of newsprint rather than a journalist if this is an example of his editorial activity.

Rites of Passage

Last weekend my youngest daughter had her high school formal. This was an event of some significance in our family, as she is the last of our four children to finish her schooling.

She attended an all-girls catholic school, and the event very accurately reflected the values of this particular school community. They actually practice what they preach.

The graduation mass in the morning was opened with a "Welcome to Country" read by one of the aboriginal kids. She was accompanied by a father playing the didgeridoo. This fellow is a local bank manager. He is not aboriginal, but has learnt to play the didge. He did a great job.

In the group graduating was a real mixture of backgrounds. There were girls from Sudan, Papua New Guinea, and the Pacific Islands. My daughter's best mate is of Greek extraction.

At the formal in the evening, there was a great deal of competition around making a grand entrance. The girls managed to assemble a wide range of classic and exotic vehicles from which to alight with their partners at the designated place. The best I could do was to spruce up our family car, as my daughter's partner is still on "L" plates. Because of this, and fortunately for our father-daughter relationship, the issue of my loaning him my roadster didn't come up.

The highlight was provided by a couple of Papuan girls. Being boarders, they didn't have access to the networks of their local colleagues in terms of providing cars. They got around this by constructing a pseudo limousine out of cardboard. Two of them "drove" this replica down the street to the entrance of the hall. They stole the show.

Thinking about it, this richness of cultures is probably the greatest difference I detect between what happens now and the way the world was when I matriculated fifty-five years ago.

My other daughter lives in student accommodation in Brisbane where she is in the ethnic minority. Most of the students in her accommodation are Asian. Her best friend is Israeli. My son who studies in Adelaide shares digs with a Korean and a Chinese student. The other person is Australian, but he makes up for this by being a chef. My oldest son who also studies in Brisbane shares accommodation with two brothers who are of German descent. They're both multi-lingual. They happen to be his cousins, as their mother (my wife's sister) married a German bloke who emigrated.

None of my children see anything remarkable in this, and if you ask them, they are only barely conscious of background. They're more interested in a range of other issues, such as reliability of their roommates in terms of contributions for rent and food. One thing hasn't changed – students still live in splendid poverty.

Currently our baby is at schoolies. It leaves me wondering where the last seventeen years went..............

Endangered Species

The following two articles were published in today's Courier Mail.

The first one is a piece about the resignation rates amongst teachers by James O'Loan -

Teachers quit jobs - Resignations on increase

A Tsunami of Queensland teacher resignations is gathering mass as an ageing, arguably underpaid workforce continues to leave our classrooms. From 2006 to last year, resignations jumped 22 per cent and 19 per cent at primary and secondary public schools. The latest Education Queensland figures reveal a retention rate of 94.7 per cent in 2007, the lowest in at least three years. The system took 689 high school and 579 primary school teacher resig­nations from a workforce of 32,000. Queensland Teachers Union pres­ident Steve Ryan expected the flood­gates to remain open for masses of age-induced retirements and younger staff quitting within 10 years as their pay rises stopped. "But, the financial crisis will slow it down a bit I would say," Mr Ryan said. "They don't want to get into retirement mode because they're at the mercy of the markets again." Teachers constitute the third-oldest workforce in Australia. Only marine workers and timber workers are, on average, older. According to the Queensland College of Teachers, 3 per cent of registered teachers are 24 or less, while 37 per cent are 50 or more. Each year about 1000 to 1500 more teachers are registered than are volun­tarily deregistered and about 75 per cent are women. QUT PhD student Mark Keogh has for two years studied the reasons why Queensland's public high school teachers over 45 resign. "Most said it was because of issues within the school itself," he said. The researcher claimed a handful of "office psycho" principals across the state were also responsible for forcing good teachers out the door. "There are a lot of good (principals) but there are some really bad ones ... it breaks (a teacher's) heart," he said. He said bully principals often direct teachers to exclusively take Year 8, 9 or 10 classes — the most stressful. "There are ways to do it (discrimi­nate). Teachers aren't going to com­plain because principals have the right to find out who complained." Representatives from Catholic and independent schools agreed their sec­tors were also facing the prospect of mass retirements from an ageing teaching workforce.

The second by Tanya Chilcott deals with litigation -

Scissors to blame More school lawsuits

Students should not be allowed to take scissors into art classes, according to one parent who is suing the State Govern­ment for $210,000. The mother is suing on behalf of her son who was allegedly cut by scissors inside a pencil case thrown at him by another student in an art class. The incident is the latest in a string of school-based lawsuits filed against the state of Queensland. In the case, filed this week, a 14-year-old boy was allegedly injured on April 26 last year during an art class at Tullawong State High School, Caboolture. Another student was alleg­edly behaving violently and punched a second student in the head before throwing the pencil case at the 14-year-old boy, who had asked the alleged assailant to say sorry to the pupil he had hit. A claim filed by Shine Law­yers in the District Court of Queensland alleges a nerve was severed in the boy's left arm, as well as scarring. It claims the art teacher should have intervened and removed the allegedly violent student from the classroom. It also claims the state of Queensland "failed to implement a system by which students were prevented from bringing sharp objects into the classroom". The State Government is accused of breaching its duty by failing to implement a proper system for supervision and discipline. It is also accused of failing to implement a proper disciplinary behaviour and management program for the alleged attacker, who it is claimed had a history of violence at the school. An Education Queensland spokesman said he was unable to comment as the case was before the courts. Nearly 100 lawsuits were filed for injuries suffered by students in the last financial year.

Neither story is really news. Anyone working in schools, as I do, is only too aware of the situations described. The issues are wide-ranging, from behaviour management, to support for teachers, and parental expectations.

Probably the greatest degree of change I have observed since I started teaching in a bush school in 1968, relates to these issues of the mismatch between teacher capacity and the ever more demanding expectations of the community, harnessed for profit by the plaintiff lawyers.

The media also has a responsibility, because they generally sensationalise the negative aspects, and ignore anything positive. As a school principal, I remember feeling deep frustration at the local media's unwillingness to publish any positive stories - and there were plenty to publish. The politicisation of education also has a negative effect, as Principals, in particular, are aware that any decision made can land the school on the front page of the newspaper on a slow news day.

Perhaps one of the issues that hasn't been canvassed is that of the hobbling of learning communities (which is what schools are or should be) by this morass of issues. Anything that sidetracks the energy of teachers and principals away from learning and teaching imposes a cost on kids and their parents.

In the short term, we need to get behind our teachers and principals in much the same way as we support our military, irrespective of whether or not we support their political masters.

Both soldiering and teaching are noble and indispensable professions. Let's stop bashing them.

Momentous Events

When world-changing events happen, most people can remember where they were at the time.

My father woke me one morning in November 1963 to tell me that Jack Kennedy had been assassinated. I was sixteen, and as the oldest was relegated to sleeping on a verandah, as the school residence wasn't large enough for a family of six.

Dad emerged from inside the house with an expression of great distress on his face. He had been transfixed by the notion that a Catholic had been elected President in 1960, and now was devastated by his assassination.

Martin Luther King was shot on my younger brother's birthday, and by some strange twist of destiny, Bobby Kennedy died on my 21^st Birthday the same year.

I was dismayed by this, as I'd held out hope that the younger Kennedy would win the Presidency, and withdraw from Vietnam before I was enlisted in the Army. I had been conscripted, and was teaching out my first year (as was the agreement) prior to call up. I believed, rightly or wrongly, that if the Yanks left Vietnam, we would follow. It was particularly ironic from my perspective that this indeed happened, but not before I had spent a year in Vietnam in 1970.

This consciousness that momentous events on the other side of the Pacific have a direct and profound effect on our lives in this country has never left me.

On 11^th September 2001 (my youngest daughter's birthday) I watched the twin towers come down, with a deep sense of dread about the impact this would have on politics in this country. Few would argue the events of that day failed to shape the outcome of the next two federal elections.

Yesterday I was driving back from to Toowoomba after work in Roma, Wandoan, and Taroom. It's a long trip, and I tuned into the hourly news broadcasts that brought Obama closer to the Whitehouse as I got steadily closer to home.

The unfolding countryside paralleled my unfolding realization that nothing would ever be the same again. By Wallumbilla the networks were beginning to make cautious predictions, and by Yuleba, there seemed little doubt. I turned the radio off at Miles before pausing to have a coffee, with McCain's graceful concession in my ears.

At home last night, Obama's acceptance speech was riveting. I've emailed copies to my kids urging them to watch it, because the event will have a strong effect on their futures. Maybe they will – maybe not, but I hope someday they will develop an understanding of the broad sweep of history leading to this moment.

Hopefully, they won't have to wait to become old and cranky like their father before they understand.