Boundaries

 

Pic courtesy News.com

This is another post which references the Voice, but is more about the history. 

I've lived all over Queensland, and every reasonably sized town that I've known has a Boundary Street or Boundary Road. That includes Rockhampton, Townsville, Toowoomba, and of course, Brisbane. 

Try entering "Boundary St" or "Boundary Rd" into Google Maps, and see how you go.

I've never really wondered why this was the case, but recent reading has revealed some interesting (and harrowing) history. 

These streets and roads mark out the perimeters beyond which indigenous people were not allowed to venture at night during the week or on Sundays. They were common in Queensland towns and settlements and were usually marked by a wooden post (boundary posts).

In Brisbane, since the early 1850s, Aborigines had been allowed into the town during the day, but could be driven out by the police using regulations that came into force about that time. 

They were allowed to come in beyond the boundary during the week where they performed menial tasks in exchange for tobacco, flour and other rations. By the 1870s, organized groups of police would round up any aborigines inside the boundary and used stockwhips to move them out. They would be removed to camps on various watercourses in Dutton Park, Fairfield, Annerley and Coorparoo.

Strangely, in a mid-twentieth century reprise of this process, the boundaries were reinstated to keep African-American servicemen on the "correct" side of the Brisbane River. White Americans were allowed on the north side of the river, but the blacks were expected to confine themselves to the south. This was one of the situations which triggered the famous Battle of Brisbane on 26th and 27th November 1942, when an Australian soldier took exception to an American Military Policeman's attempts to arrest a black soldier with whom he had been drinking presumably because he was on the wrong (north) side of the river. 

The MP used his truncheon on the Australian, and all hell broke loose. There had been simmering resentment of the Yanks for months, but race was the trigger.

Given the vituperative nature of discussion about the Voice on social media, it seems not much has changed since 1942.

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Review - Our Vietnam War

 

Image courtesy ABC iView

This ABC programme has been broadcast on Tuesday nights for the last three weeks. It is also available on ABC iView.

It should be compulsory viewing for all Australian high school students, as it offers a comprehensive, factual and unbiased narrative of the conflict. It is also exquisitely made, featuring interviews with historians (some of whom served during the decade of the war), together with ex-service personnel, of both genders, and Vietnamese refugees. The music of the era provides a sound track, and contributes to an understanding of the time.

The interviews with people like Graham Edwards (ex-7RAR, who lost both legs in a mine incident in 1970), Harry Smith (D Coy commander Battle of Long Tan), Ashley Ekins (ex chief historian at the Australian War Memorial), Mark Dapin (author of The Nashos War and Australia's Vietnam: Myth vs History) and a couple of anti-war activists and Vietnamese refugees, provide an unrivalled cross section of recollections and perspectives.

The topic is covered comprehensively, beginning with the history of the French defeat and concluding with the long shadow created by the war in the lives of so many Australians.

I found it deeply moving, and would recommend it.

It can be found on ABC iView.

Here is a link to the trailer.

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Fifty Years On

 

The 523 who were lost.

I've just arrived back, gentle reader, from the commemoration in Canberra of the 50th anniversary of the end of the Australian commitment to Vietnam.

It was a very well-organised event, and the people who put the programme together achieved a fine balance between commemoration of the loss and sacrifice of those who were killed and wounded, and acknowledgement of the tragedy of the war.

The Canberra weather wasn't cooperative. We had about ten minutes of bright sunshine after the ceremony which was mostly conducted under rainy skies, but then the clearing westerlies turned up. I swear you could feel the snow on the shoulders of that wind.

I was able to link up with a few of the 5 platoon bunch, but we're getting a bit thin on the ground. All of us have age-related maladies, but that didn't spoil the fellowship. Sadly, it's probably the last reunion.

I made the mistake of booking into a caravan park outside of town, which meant I had to drive in and out. This put the kibosh on sharing more than one or two beers with the crew, but there you go.

There was a well-compiled video of the proceedings, and I've included it here.

It's well worth watching.

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Back to School

                        

Image courtesy MastersDegree.net

After three years part-time, gentle reader, I've graduated in my M.A.

Resuming study in your seventh decade is perhaps a little unusual, but I need a goal, and I'm a lousy golfer.

I already had two degrees from the seventies and eighties, when I got a leg-up post Vietnam through a Department of Labour and National Service rehabilitation scholarship, so I had no problem getting admitted once the University of Queensland dug up my academic record.

I wasn't so lucky in getting a statement from my post-graduate diploma from Griffith University, as it had been lost in a warehouse in the 2011 flood, but they did write a letter of confirmation of enrolment.

Academia has changed more than a little in forty plus years, but the principles remain the same. You simply have to do a little work each day. It's straightforward when you're retired.

These days, information technology is all the goal, so I had to brush up a little on my computer skills. None of that was around in the seventies.

My project was an examination of the old myth "Every national serviceman who went to Vietnam was a volunteer". Others have already exposed it as nonsense, but I wanted to investigate it myself, and did so by interviewing Vietnam veterans who were Nashos. I managed to find a few volunteer Nashos, but they're like hens teeth. 

Bizarrely, some of those who applied for early registration finished up as accidental volunteers - strange but true.

Because the experience was so enjoyable, I'm considering continuing, although I'll need an institution, a new supervisor and a new project. I'm open to suggestions.

In the meantime, here's a link to my thesis. It's not exactly light reading, but some of you may be interested.

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A Tribute to Sinéad O’Connor with a little help from Yeats...

 

 Easter, 1916  - William Butler Yeats 

I have met them at close of day 

Coming with vivid faces 

From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. 

I have passed with a nod of the head 

Or polite meaningless words, 

Or have lingered awhile and said 

Polite meaningless words, 

And thought before I had done 

Of a mocking tale or a gibe 

To please a companion 

Around the fire at the club, 

Being certain that they and I 

But lived where motley is worn: 

All changed, changed utterly: 

A terrible beauty is born. 

That woman's days were spent 

In ignorant good-will, 

Her nights in argument 

Until her voice grew shrill. 

What voice more sweet than hers 

When, young and beautiful, 

She rode to harriers? 

This man had kept a school 

And rode our wingèd horse; 

This other his helper and friend 

Was coming into his force; 

He might have won fame in the end, 

So sensitive his nature seemed, 

So daring and sweet his thought. 

This other man I had dreamed 

A drunken, vainglorious lout. 

He had done most bitter wrong 

To some who are near my heart, 

Yet I number him in the song; 

He, too, has resigned his part In the casual comedy; 

He, too, has been changed in his turn, 

Transformed utterly: 

A terrible beauty is born. 

Hearts with one purpose alone 

Through summer and winter seem 

Enchanted to a stone 

To trouble the living stream. 

The horse that comes from the road, 

The rider, the birds that range 

 From cloud to tumbling cloud, 

 Minute by minute they change; 

A shadow of cloud on the stream 

Changes minute by minute; 

A horse-hoof slides on the brim, 

And a horse plashes within it; 

The long-legged moor-hens dive, 

And hens to moor-cocks call; 

Minute by minute they live: 

The stone's in the midst of all. 

Too long a sacrifice 

Can make a stone of the heart. 

O when may it suffice? 

That is Heaven's part, our part 

To murmur name upon name, 

As a mother names her child 

When sleep at last has come 

On limbs that had run wild. 

That is it but nightfall? 

No, no, not night but death; 

Was it needless death after all? 

For England may keep faith 

For all that is done and said. 

We know their dream; enough 

To know they dreamed and are dead; 

And what if excess of love 

Bewildered them till they died? 

I write it out in a verse— MacDonagh and MacBride 

And Connolly and Pearse 

Now and in time to be, 

Wherever green is worn, 

Are changed, changed utterly: 

A terrible beauty is born.

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The Power of Listening (2)

 

Apparently that's me. I don't really understand the picture.

I've blogged about this before, gentle reader, but now that the legislation clearing the way for the referendum to be held has been passed, I'll have another look at the issue.

 One of the reactions to that post was interesting, in that it claimed that self-interest has put a barrier between the resources allocated and the outcomes achieved. I wouldn't for a moment disagree with that, but that failed top-down model is the whole point of setting up a voice.

The historical record has shown us that whenever non-indigenous agencies come up with "solutions" to the problem of indigenous disadvantage, the result is failure. There is a succession of these "solutions", ranging from the formation of ATSIC in 1990 and its dissolution in 2005, to Howard's intervention in 2007.  

ATSIC's abolition followed a 2005 report and enquiry by its Select Committee which found that although there had been widespread support for instituting changes to the way that ATSIC was structured and operated, there was also "overwhelming" support for the continued existence of a national Indigenous representative body. Most witnesses to the inquiry had suggested that regional operations could be improved, but they were strongly in favour of having a national, elected Indigenous representative body. Deep concerns were expressed about the disempowerment of Indigenous peoples. One of the recommendations was that the government "give active support and funding to the formation of a national Indigenous elected representative body, and provide it with ongoing funding". That recommendation went begging.

That recommendation could be seen as the origin of the Voice. The dismantling of ATSIC was seen by many commentators as harmful to Aboriginal people in Australia. In 2009, Lowitja O'Donoghue opined that reform of the agency would have been better than abolishing it.

It's instructive to compare the behaviour of Geoff Clarke (disgraced ex ATSIC Commissioner) involving pub brawls, and sexual assaults, with that alleged to have been carried out by Kathryn Campbell (ex Secretary of the Department of Human Services) which occurred in the air-conditioned offices of the DHS, by people "neat and clean and well-advised"*. Clarke's offences didn't kill anyone. It appears that what happened under Campbell's watch did.

The discussion about listening reminded me of my experiences in North-West Queensland referred to in my original post. 

At the time I was a naive, but well-intentioned middle class public servant commissioned to manage and annual budget of $2.8 million to support the NATSIEP (National Aboriginal and Torres strait Education Programme)  initiative in an area twice the size of victoria and Tasmania combined. 

I had to learn on the job. When I left that position, I did so with the good wishes of the Mitakoodi and Kalkadoon elders that I had worked with in the portfolio, and they presented me with some parting gifts. The first one is a dot painting shown at the top of this post.

The second was the poem above. 

What gobsmacked me when I read it again (after nearly 30 years) was the reference to "listening" in the opening line of the second verse. 

I learned a great deal from these wonderful people in the five years I worked with them. Much of the listening took place as I was driving with them along the Flinders Highway to Cloncurry and Hughenden or the Beef Developmental Road (now Route 83) to Dajarra, Boulia, Bedourie and Birdsville. 

Those journey lasted hours, so I learned plenty. All they ever wanted back then was to be listened to and taken seriously. When that was done, and their initiatives and suggestions followed, progress was made. There was never any place for judgement - (see the second line of the second verse). 

They'd had generations of that. 

I doubt much has changed since the nineties.

*From the old Irish Ballad.

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Groundhog Day - Consultants on the Taxpayer's Dollar

 

Image courtesy Australian Financial Review

We're reading and watching plenty of media about the big four consulting firms. 

My brief experience as a school principal with consultancies was an eye opener, and showed just how much of a scam many of their operations were. Nothing has changed.

Back in the late nineties, I was principal of a large regional special school. There was a department supplied special bus supplied as part of the infrastructure. It was equipped with a wheelchair hoist which allowed children with physical impairments to attend excursions along with their able-bodied peers. The previous three special schools I had led were similarly equipped, as were all other Queensland special schools at the time.

Apparently, providing kids with disabilities equity of access had become a low priority and Treasury had decided that supplying these buses on the taxpayer dollar was a bridge too far, even though the real cost was slight.  They were replaced every five years, by which time the Q-Fleet leases resulted in an almost cost neutral exercise. They were traded at a price about the same as they were purchased tax-free by Q-fleet.

The decision had to be justified, of course, so Education Queensland commissioned a firm of consultants to come up with a rationale. The first I knew was when I received a phone call from someone senior in resources branch in head office saying that I would get a visit from a representative of the firm to assess the way in which the bus was being used. Half a dozen other schools statewide were also being investigated.

The consultant turned up shortly afterward armed with copious supplies of paperwork. He explained that he had a range of data collection documents, conveniently mounted on clipboards, that staff would be required to complete every time they used the bus. Information requested included destination, distance, reason for the journey including the educational aims of the excursion, name and role of the driver, and an approximation of the cost of the fuel involved. 

Once completed, the documents were to be forwarded by post to the consultancy. I asked him what would be done with the information. He replied that it would be collated and sent to Treasury. I asked what the firm was being paid for the exercise, but he wouldn't tell me, claiming "commercial in confidence".

Off he went, back to Brisbane. After considering what my already overworked teachers were being asked to do, I phoned a few of my principal colleagues, who  expressed reservations similar to mine. Eventually, we agreed that this task was beyond the role of our teachers, and one by one, phoned central office to break the sad news that we wouldn't cooperate. All the consultants were being paid for was to enter information into a database, summarise it, and forward it to central office. This information was not received with enthusiasm by head office, and comments were made about the career damaging possibilities of this non-cooperation. 

The Union became involved, and that was the end of the exercise. Treasury pulled the pin.

Looking back on it, the episode was emblematic of how the use of consultants, on taxpayers' funds, has crept into public institutions. The current malfeasance exhibited by the big four is simply a sophisticated evolution of the process.

It's gratifying to see it called out at last, but great damage has been done to what used to be a frank and fearless public service. Between this and Robodebt, it's time for public service reform.

Unfortunately, the wound will take years to heal.    

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