The offending image. We regret that our reader has misinterpreted this completely innocent image. Cecil clutches the phone mid conversation as he enthused about the drenching rains.

Dear reader, occasionally we feel obliged to publish one of the many leters we receive on a daily basis from our enthusiastic public. This one raised a twitter in the ethics department, and we felt that in the interests of transparency it should be published to assuage any moral confusion on behalf of our broad and loyal readership.

‘At the risk of seeming less than urbane, I would nevertheless like to take issue with you regarding one or two points made in a recently published piece in your otherwise excellent magazine. The piece in question was written by a Mr Cecil Poole and was entitled ‘On Top’. The piece opens with the highly amusing and laudable observation that it is essential to a successful life to have chosen the right parents!

This is all well, good and jolly as far as it goes but this opening paragraph is accompanied by a photograph of a dastardly paedophile parent, clad in close-fitting and alluring night attire, who is making libidinous choices of his own by towering over a child’s bed whilst the child in question desperately attempts to phone the police.

Surely you.are aware, dear Editor, of the subtle and dangerous forces you are, albeit unintentionally, releasing here? What on earth were you thinking of? Is it your intention to suggest that at any moment this repellent old vulture will be ‘On Top?’. Oh, Heaven forfend! I suggest Sir or Madam, that you take a quick and critical big stick to your editorial staff before you find yourself arraigned before the courts.

Another inisdious sign of Gobal Warming. Falling Grand Piano’s; ‘In the key of D’.

Severe Upright piano weather event.

Thankfully the article moves on and describes Mr Poole’s land and the locally available precipitation. Oddly the author insists that every drop of moisture that falls on his land is his and his alone, that he is personally responsible for it. Well forgive me Mr Poole, but that sounds like a lot of bladder to me. Eventually the drought breaks, and a tiny, forgiveable dissonance creeps into Mr Poole’s wellchosen words.‘…As with all dry spells, it is broken by rain…’Was Mr Poole expecting something else?. Lightning perhaps, and a fall of Grand Pianos?Further on the author reminds us all that a ‘… home without an island is definitely not a castle…’ and there is, we agree, a certain truth in this pithy observation. There is, undoubtedly, enormous prestige involved in owning same. This pleasure is, alack, fleeting and entirely seasonal. This dry dam seasonality, this absence of fashionable archipelago, so preys on Mr Poole’s mind that he, as we have seen, completely denies access to his vast estates in the absence of good rain.

‘of how the modern farmer, high in the catchment area, can so tragically, and quite by accident, destroy the livelihoods of those further downhill‘.

One day, I am told, during a particularly dry spell, the vicar unexpectedly came to call. Mr Poole was so unnerved by this that he took to standing inthe dry dam in a bathful of water with palm fronds tucked into his hatband. Sadly, this subterfuge utterly failed to convince anyone and it took many days to convince the author that no man is an island.This writing is a triumphant, a carefully crafted catalogue of how the modern farmer, high in the catchment area, can so tragically, and quite by accident, destroy the livelihoods of those
further downhill.

The author, if any of us need further convincing, includes a photograph, taken from his helicopter, of the day the sluice gates were opened, (accidentally of course) and swept a whole family to oblivion in a matter of minutes. None of them were ever seen again.To honour their memory, Mr Poole bought the stripped, drenched and denuded land, which was sadly much reduced in value and sold it within days and at a vast profit, to Bunnings.Well I suppose it is a good thing that someone profited from this awful tragedy.As I have so often said in the past, there is a bright future for Mr Poole in the world of journalism should he care to take up the challenge’.

Imagine, if you will, a rare, unfettered afternoon where the aroma of good malicious gossip is in prospect, the possibility of lunch looms and a few shekels well spent on same might even offer up the meatily dazzling prospect of the pleasures involved in both victuals, Veuve Cliquot and the character assassination of absent friends.

‘At that moment, at that very instant, the phone rang’.

With all of these delights in mind, I conscientiously, and with not a little excitement, primped myself in preparation for the fray. Precious unctions swamped the senses as I dashed away with a smoothing iron, producing razor sharp creases fine enough to leave even Bradman breathless. The yellow shirt, lightly sprayed with a zephyr of rosewater, then ironed, was a masterpiece. Effortlessly, with the merest flick of the chamois, my shoes were burnished brightly, an immaculate compliment to my lavender hacking jacket and subtly faded red slacks. Then, having not only donned, but (dare I say it?) gracefully enhanced these superb items of male apparel, I prepared to make my way to the appointed rendezvous. Coiffed magnificently, I smiled a secret compliment to my reflection in the mirror, hesitated too long over an errant curl, and reached for the knob. At that moment, at that very instant, the phone rang.

Chagrin (French and pronounced approximately phonetically as ‘shag wran’ with the ‘an’ bit sounding deep in the nostrils as if you’ve just been busted in the mush by Mohammed Ali.) perfectly sums up my reaction when comprehension of this telephonic command finally and irretrievably burst upon my inner eye.‘You what?’ I croaked in disbelief, gripping the hallstand and trembling.‘By six this arvo latest.’‘But I’m just going out the door…’‘I’m sorry, mate, there’s nothing I can do. 500 words by six tonight.

On any subject. That’s what he says. Top brass orders. Charlie’s sick, Drumbshanbo Murphy is in Ulan Bator and so we’ve all got to rally round’.I stared at the phone, my free afternoon imploding, my dreams of the Widow Cliquot’s champagne fuelled ribaldry already fading.‘By six? Tonight?’ I gasped, choking away a sob, ‘500 words? How the hell am I supposed to do that?’. There was silence for a second then an unsympathetic giggle from the other end of the line. The voice, when it came, was deadly serious.‘You’ll have to extract the base metal from your orifice’.‘What?’.‘Get the lead out of your arse!’

‘Bastards!’. I roared, but the phone was already dead’

‘Bastards!’. I roared, but the phone was already dead. I stood, shaking, just inside my own front door, a broken and beaten shadow of the insouciant boulevardier I had so recently been.

I turned and shambled down to the kitchen, muttering vile imprecations to an altogether uninterested and uncaring universe.‘Five hundred words….’ he’d said. I pulled a sheet of paper from the kitchen roll. ‘On any subject I liked…’ Busily I blew my nose, keenly aware of Machiavelli’s advice not to look for pearls therein. I flung the offending hankie in the bin just as an idea formed. I squared my shoulders, dried my eyes and sat down at the kitchen table keyboard. I laughed a wicked laugh, thought a moment, then began: ‘Imagine, if you will, a rare, unfettered afternoon…..’END

Cecil is woken by Ma and Pa; ‘It’s raining son”!!

I’m blessed to live on top. On top of the catchment that is. Of course I’m on top in a lot of other areas too, but as my dear friend tells me that is an accident of birth. Funny, that. She says that most rich people made their very best decision before they were born: they chose their parents well. I digress. Emphatically this is not a political post.

So here I am on top of the catchment. Only the rain that falls on my land runs through my land. This is important. The water on my land is mine. MINE. I owe nothing to anyone else. This really is my water. (Now, before you start sniggering, I mean it is my water as in potable water, not my water in any other sense.)

Cecil’s front gate.

How Cecil uses his water.

It has been a long dry spell, and as with all dry spells it is broken by rain. The most glorious rain. Started on Thursday. Continues as I write. Not, mind you, the torrential downpour of the East Coast and Tasmania, but solid rain never-the-less. I look out and see water flowing down the grassy gully. The near dam is full. This is good, for once this dam overflows the main dam – Lake, (with artificial island) – starts to fill. It is a matter of some prestige to have a ‘lake’ with an island. For some months my island was not actually an island. There were people I could not invite to my home as a result of this; a home without an island is definitely not a castle. Perhaps, come tomorrow, I shall be able to issue invitations to those dear and true friends. I’ve made it known that I am ‘Not at Home’ through those last few dry months. The embarrassment of having no island would have been too much to bare.

In fact it is now tomorrow and my Island is restored. I give thanks and and go off to work in much the way Robert Drewe’s ‘The Drowner’ character, Will Dance, did whilst still in England. I blocked the water flow in the gully and diverted it through a complex system of channels to my upper dam, the one behind the house, the one I use to water my extensive garden and lawns. (I’m considering a moat, yet am not sure that it would provide the protection I need.) When the upper dam is full I can then guide the overflow into my last and largest dam on the other side of the saddle, and once that is full I believe my life will revert to its placid, self satisfied blissful state.

‘I was told very early that a secure water supply and a full wood heap makes for a happy wife’.

Firstly, once I’ve got that dam full I can call the wife and tell her to come home. I was told very early that a secure water supply and a full wood heap makes for a happy wife. Time will tell.

Secondly, and this part pleases me no end, I shall be able to help my fellow man. This is a responsibility taught me by my father. It is onerous, yet now that I have my dams full to capacity, I shall be able to let some water run off my property to those lower down. I only hope that they can use it responsibly too. Maybe I’ll call in and offer my sage advice.

‘Life is so good when you are on top and can support your fellow man through the wonderful and proven trickle down effect’.

Life is so good when you are on top and can support your fellow man through the wonderful and proven trickle down effect.

You just can’t trust the bloke on the left. The bloke on the right, Malcolm Abbott is a merchant banker. He’ll look after you.

Elections don’t get any more exciting then this. I’ve got to tell you I’ve seen quite a few and they just don’t get this exciting. Even the U.S election is dull and boring in comparison.

Just the other day, Mr Shorten said that Donald Trump was a raving looney. Then Mr Turnbull cautioned Mr Shorten and said that was an unwise thing to do. Then, to top it all off, Mr Di Natale (Greens), when asked by Barry Cassidy, agreed that Trump was a complete looney. See how exciting it gets.

Mr Turnbull is getting really serious about the election.  Just the other day he likened it to a war, and said that Mr Shorten was firing bullets and shooting dead mum’s and dad’s across Australia.  Then, just when we all started getting scared about Mr Shorten killing all those mums and dads, Mr Turnbull went one further and said that Mr Shorten wanted to close Australian  businesses down.  Fair dinkum. I was packing, although i couldn’t think of any Australian business that was still locally owned, Vegemite, Arnotts, Bonds, Holden, CSL, IXL, Fosters, VB, Four n Twenty. I was quite shocked, because that means that there will still some businesses that would soon  be going off shore, and if that happened there’d be no one left to make advantage of the fifty billion on offer to boost big business.

Well,…. no local company.

But i’m sure that Chevron, Transurban, and Google could find  way to stump up to the cash as they don’t seem to pay any tax at all and that would contribute to the trickle down effect. The trickle down effect is much much more than some rich bastard pissing on you.

In god we trust.

Its a real effect, like the doppler, and the sound, and the greenhouse, (though that’s exaggerated) in making a real contribution to our way of life. Apparently Mr Shorten hates old bastards who are really rich and own heaps of houses.  Though they’re paid for by the poor wage earners who’ve had their wages, spending and choices crushed by the global economy, Mr Turnbull reckons that Shorten, (who you cant trust) will force these old bastards to pay up to 1 per cent of their income after tax back to the government. What a cheek, Also Mr Turnbull reckons that Mr Shorten, if he ever got into government would force us all to go gay and give all the money that has been wisely quarantined from arty lefty wankers back towards the same who’ll blow it all on art, plays, music, science and stuff that we don’t need to make us clever, and innovative and progressive.  That’s the trouble, Labor, and the Greens are just beyond the pale. They’ll say anything just to get into government and then blow it all away. Like the deficit, though it’s grown threefold under the Libs, we know that Labor can’t be trusted. And wages?  They’ll blow out and drive those bits of industry that haven’t been closed down by ideologies sprung from the IPA offshore. And don’t forget the insidious behaviour of the unions, that some minority still belong to.  He,( Mr Shorten) is up to no good, and if elected would probably join in an unholy alliance with the Greens (as he is a lefty, and weak, and not strong on principle), and start treating refugees as HUMANS and that would be a catastrophe!!

So play it safe. Don’t risk changing Australia from where’ we’re at now. It aint broke so don’t fix it. That’s what the war is about. Truth and who you can trust. Really!!

Another splendid post from Ira Maine Esq.  Poetry Editor

Glass
Lets raise our glasses to the survivors of ethnocide,

On several occasions I have quoted Martin Flanagan from an article he wrote on his Sports Weekend visit to Yuendumu in 1987:

To visit Yuendumu is to have the glass tower of your preconceptions shattered into countless brilliant fragments….

I never tire of rolling those words in my mouth.

A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,
And then the heaven espy.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7G0MtBLtLrQ

-Teach Me, My God and King (Sandys) · Cardiff Festival Choir & Owain Arwel Hughes

As my mother used to say:
Ik ben niet protestant, ik ben niet katoliek,
Maar toch ga ik naar de kerk voor de mooie muziek!
(I’m not Protestant, I’m not Catholic, but still I go to church for the beautiful music- In Dutch it rhymes)

When the Nickel Boom took us to Leonora/Laverton, we came across big piles of mostly broken glass. Included were old Pickaxe beer bottles, these I was told were all different in that they had been made by a process that included hand rolling and branding.

Also occasionally you’d find purple tomato sauce bottles.

Another occasion took me to the Bancannia Trough north of Broken Hill where the Planet Oil Company was drilling a couple of structures delineated by seismic surveys and which had been interpreted as being possible ancient Devonian reefs. They turned out to be ancient volcanic structures. We had occasion to call into the Silverton Hotel, now famous for its appearance in countless movies including Mad Max. On the shelves was a collection of old bottles including rare purple ones. Upon remarking on these, the barmaid regaled us with an explanation of the purple colour…. Small quantities of manganese dioxide in the glass would combine over time with potassium and oxidize to purple potassium permanganate (condis crystals) under ultraviolet light. So there was I, a young geology University graduate, not devoid of some tickets on myself, getting a chemistry lesson from a barmaid in a remote pub. Goes to show, be wary of preconceptions, never judge a book by its cover…

Bo Diddley – You Can’t Judge A Book By The Cover https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lch0o4wwGyw

Some travellers pass through Yuendumu, who ask intelligent questions. These remote communities have been subjected to so much politically opportunistic propaganda, so much stereotyping and stigmatization, that I think it my duty to shatter their glass towers of preconceptions, and offer a few brilliant fragments.

Recently I had occasion to carry out this duty and simultaneously practice my mother tongue. The Dutch tourist, in a subsequent email exchange pointed out that he disagreed with a certain premise I’d made about Warlpiri life. We all have a right to be wrong.

Joss Stone-Right to be wrong-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcpEte4plbw

But…I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible that you may be mistaken  Oliver Cromwell 1650… Yes, I was mistaken.

(the ethnocentric assimilationist interventionists by contrast almost never admit they’re mistaken).

Al deze gesprekken hebben toch wel een verdieping en nuancering gegeven van het eerste wat sombere beeld dat je als buitenstaander snel krijgt van de Aboriginal gemeenschap, wrote my new Dutch friend (these conversations have deepened and nuanced the rather sombre first impression into Aboriginal society you get as an outsider)

Kieran Finnane’s book ‘TROUBLE: on trial in Central Australia’, has just been launched.  http://www.alicespringsnews.com.au/2016/05/23/writing-the-stories-of-trouble/  The front cover photograph by Mike Gillam is titled ‘Glass Midden”. Just like the glass middens we came across in Western Australia those decades ago. Perhaps I will make an exception and judge this book by its cover.

I’m yet to read the book, but reading Kieran’s article in which she writes about writing the book, I definitely intend to:

My goal has not been to add some other level of judgment to the adjudication of cases but rather, by reporting on them with attention to detail and context, to offer a more nuanced account than is generally available… There it is again, that word: nuanced.

To visit Yuendumu is to have the glass tower of your preconceptions shattered into countless brilliant fragments….

Alas …the ethnocentric assimilationist interventionists see only broken glass….

They wouldn’t recognise ‘nuance’ if it stared them in the face.

…and I’ve got so little left to loose,
That it feels just like I’m walking on broken glass…

-Annie Lennox: Walking on Broken Glass

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkU2dx_wJGw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbUqcleXvug

Proost,
Frenk

Labor’s war on everything!!

Mr Morrison has gone to the hideous truth behind Labor’s election campaign.

‘Labor policies are Bullets. Not bullets fired by Johnnie Turk, The Hun, Tojo, the commies, the Viet Cong, Iraqi’s, Afghani’s and those fanatics in Isis, (please reader, insert any conflict we may have forgotten in the glorious pantheon of aussie war hero-dom. The war against the first australians does not apply, as it is ongoing, and bullets have only been discharged by one side). Labor strategists want to bring Aussie families down’.

The general and his lieutenant at the front line.

We ask; ‘Is this the dead cat moment? A war’!!

Scomo continued; ‘These Bolsheviks will stop at nothing to bring aussie mum’s and dad’s down. Demanding the rich pay a fraction of their entitlements back to society is the thin end of the wedge. When we, the coalition adopt a principled position we stick to it. Car industry needed a few more bucks? Piss off! Poor people pay more tax to assist negative gearing portfolios. Why not? Even Feeney would agree with that. What’s the point of being poor unless you know your efforts, though pitiful, go in some measure to help those who’ve won.

We know what the first casualty is in war? Not truth stupid, but the heroic eternal flame of Anzac. Labor is anti Anzac.

I’ve gotta tell you, the IPA is hopping mad. Mum and dad struggle-street investors with a raft of negative geared properties, a shit load of shares, and a basic annual income after retirement of under 100, 000, and 1. 5 million in other assets (excluding your home) are being asked to give a fraction back to the government. Labor’s bullets could risk investment being diverted into real things that sustain society like, health, infrastructure, education and new industries.

By Jingo Josh demonstrates ‘the trickle down effect’

The war is spreading on all fronts. Some bolshevik malcontents now question the role of coal in their electorates. The besieged Peabody has demanded their sacking. Peabody’s in trouble. Coal prices are plummeting. All a consequence of Quislings, fifth columnists, and ‘Greenish-ness’. And by Jingo, Josh Frydenberg has asked; “Will Bill Shorten stand up for Australia’s second-largest export industry, the more than 40,000 jobs and around $38bn in export income it creates, or will he fold to his Green-leaning candidates?”

Steve Ciobo, Big ideas for the modern era.

‘Coal is about good jobs. Not pansy jobs like tourism and the environment. Manly coal-dust blackened, black-lunged heroic jobs. With the price of coal keeps falling through the floor it’s natural that the trade minister, Steve Ciobo, asserts that “global demand for coal is still going through the roof”. He’s right. Truth’s also a casualty, that’s what happens in war. ‘Once society decided that slavery was not on, they said the business model was broken. Bullshit! We know in sweat shops around the word it thrives!! They think our industry model to make a few rich and destroy the planet is not on. But they’re wrong! Coal is GOD-ordained and ‘an amazing thing’. Coal is crucial in “empowering” developing countries.

like distort economies, elections, societies, etc…etc..etc…

In 1914 when it was said, “the lights will go out one by one all over Europe’, and Churchill’s “ a new dark age’ was all about coal’. Last time we looked Europe had already gone non coal. But Mr Ciobo intelligently retorted; ‘Coal is ANZAC. Avenge the forces of evil. Australia, noble virtuous, all pureness and light must stand alone. Mathematics and the tide of history is on our side. You might think we lost at Gallipoli. But I can tell you that the last digger died at the age of 101. He outlived any Johnny or Mehmet. It proves, we were the last man standing. WE WON! And coal will prevail though the lights be out all over the planet. Australia, coal empowered, shall sustain the eternal truth that in the end it, was a truly glorious victory.

(Ed) Not a dead cat moment..yet. Just election hyperbole.

Greg Hunt.’ Worlds Best Minister’. Demonstrates life-like and sustainable qualities of plastic coral.

Some people out there are disappointed that the Unesco report on the environment was doctored. Apparently, quite cleverly someone, in the Environment Ministers office deleted any mention of how quickly we’ve managed to destroy the worlds most intact living system; the (former) Great Barrier Reef. There are many people unhappy with this. The first australians have put their hand up suggesting that what happened to the Great Barrier Reef happened to them several centuries ago. The terms of the (nuanced) report are quite specific. The environment is everything that is cute, colourful and exotic, and for marketing purposes must look good in postcards and present a positive image of Australia.

Natives, ‘captured in their natural environment’.

On hand, the Chief executive officer of the Australian Tourism Industry Taskforce, (Mr Will Full-Plunder) described contemporary aboriginal Australia as unpalatable to overseas tourists. ‘We once had a pretty good system, it was unique the world over. You could go anywhere in outback and remote Australia, and the tourist would be guaranteed with the kind of unique iconography we were famous for. Though the reef is almost completely stuffed, it’s nothing half as stuffed as our image of outback Australia. Used to be able to get any aboriginal male, to hold a boomerang long enough to have his photo taken at Halls Gap. Nowadays all the males are in prison and just getting them to stand still is way way too hard. Worse still is that some of them want to be paid!!

Art and Environment Sculpture. ‘More reliable and colourful’. ( CEO Tourism Australia).

We used to get heaps of interest from tourists wanting to see them in their natural habitat, painting Namatjira type pictures or as stockmen. But once they got recognition as a species of human, the station owners have pissed them off, and they’re all just hanging about. Likewise the women folk wont do what they’re told, will not hang around and supply us with souvenirs at petrol stations and refuse to their let their picannnies be taken in by the commonwealth welfare officers for processing. It’s a disgrace, it’s outta control, and no wonder then, Aussie tourism is falling off a cliff.

Plastic fish. More reliable than real ones more life-like, and 100% washable. (made from recycled plastics)

Plastic coral. 100% recyclable and sustainable.

So take my advice for the ‘Lesser Barrier Reef’. Go for the next best thing. We’ve been manufacturing plaster and concrete aboriginals for years and to be perfectly honest the tourists can’t tell the difference. You see it’s like environment, they see the silhouette, the glory shot, and they’re never ever going to go near the real individual, that’s way way too confronting. It’s alll about proximity. The tourists never need to get that close. That’s the beauty of keeping it native and simple. We’ve learnt that the outback is more marketable without living natives. The same should apply for the Lesser Barrier Reef. It’s a hands off approach. That’s why we’ve instigated a marketing plan to put sculpture all around the top end and the centre. It’s artistic and way less confronting. My suggestion is to use the same device on the reef. We’ve got this plastic coral from China which is way cheaper, washable and UV protected. Put it on the depleted bits and no one will know the difference. You charge the same, and don’t have to worry about the environmental cost. You only pay once. Bit like the environment really it’s free. And when you’ve finished with it, just move on.

It’s that simple and that’s why we’re on message to say; ‘Tourism in Australia is open for business’ and it’s 100 percent renewable…. and washable’.

by Tarquin O’Flaherty 

Some time ago I wrote an essay for the blog outlining what I believed to be the root cause of the world’s present and sorry economic malaise. Generally the essay took the view that the democratic freedom afforded post-war society by Keynesian economics posed a huge threat to the Money side of town and therefore Money decided that something must be done about it.

Keynesian economics grew out of the Depression and the determination of sections of society that the appalling conditions the people were forced to endure during this Depression would not and could not be repeated. This determination resulted in the creation of a social system where the health, wealth and wellbeing of the people would, in the future, be protected by law, and the cause of the Depression, the speculative madness of the 1920s, be outlawed.

The ‘trickle down effect’ at work

Money was not amused.  After all, the bulk of government revenues in the 60s came from industry and Money began to wonder why their money was being wasted on mollycoddling  the lower orders.  I suggested in the essay that resurgent Money, scared by the ‘Power to the People’ movements of the Sixties, decided amongst themselves that allowing this level of power into legitimate democratic hands was indeed a bridge too far.  This ‘Power’, after all, had contributed to ending the enormously lucrative Vietnam War.  It had also ended the State sanctioned discrimination, exploitation and murder of American blacks by giving them the right to vote.

The ‘Oil Crisis’ of the early seventies provided Money with the perfect opportunity to begin its propaganda war against the power of the people.  Oil prices quadrupled, business stumbled, people were thrown out of work and the Unions, those powerful bodies representing workers were discovered by Money to be (well bless my soul) corrupt, incompetent and determined to bring the Industrial West to its financial knees through greed. They must be stopped!

The reality was that there was no ‘Oil Crisis’.  None at all.  ‘The ‘Oil Crisis’ of the 1970s was, simply put, a politically motivated invention designed to drive the first battering ram into the idea that democracy was for everyone.  If there had been a legitimate, a real ‘Oil Crisis’, we’d all now be riding bikes.  The Unions, upon examination, turned out to be no more corrupt than any comparable body.  The Unions were however, legitimate bodies representing the legitimate interests of millions of the world’s peoples.  Money viewed this Union power as a ‘clear and present danger’, a direct threat to its own correctly sensible, medieval view of the world.  Luckily, Money’s coffers, for anti-Union propaganda, were huge.

Life without unions? As simple as 7/11

‘Break the power of the Unions!’  ‘Allow people to choose!’. Thatcher, Friedman, Fraser and  Reagan screamed, cheered on by the Chicago School of Economics.  Keynesian economics,  according to the new and lunatic mantra, was dead, old fashioned and entirely at odds with  modern economic thinking.  Insidiously, terrifyingly, Moneyed propaganda began to suggest, with the considerable clout of the Murdoch press, that the Unions were at least, not to be trusted, and at worst, an absolutely corrupt enemy of the people.  Essentially, the British Empire’s old strategy of divide and conquer began to take considerable effect.

None of this anti-union propaganda was true but, as we all know, if a lie is repeated often enough, it eventually becomes the truth.

In the 1980’s Keynes was demonised, his ideas ridiculed and all the brakes and stops he had brought in to prevent a repeat of the 1929 crash were gradually dismantled.  Without these safeguards Money was going to have a field day and, as we have all seen, banking speculation, on a massively corrupt scale, particularly in the U.S.,  resulted very quickly in bankrupting  North America and Western Europe as well.

For almost forty years now, despite the impoverished majority being in at least some possession of the facts; of being aware that, at the top of the scale and increasingly, individuals were making millions and companies were making trillions in profits, democracy, our democracy, our government has done nothing, absolutely nothing to protest this vastly unequal state of affairs.  In America, people have lost their homes, their livelihoods, their dignity and their hope as a result of Money’s drive to profit.   We have, by insidious increments, ceased to be citizens of a democracy, with the power and dignity that democracy bestows.  Instead, and almost unbelievably we have been persuaded, by ruthless advertising campaigns, to abandon democracy and become instead, brand new type of citizen, a type never before seen in the history of humankind; ladies and gentlemen, I give you (blast of trumpets) THE CONSUMER!

The ‘consumer’, (like the Ploughman’s Lunch) is an invention of the advertising industry.  It has taken about half a century for Money, through advertising to persuade us to abandon democracy in favour of consumerism.  This has been quite cleverly done.  Whether we are prepared to accept this or not does not make it any less true.  The facts are that elected governments nowadays no longer represent the interests of the people.  Governments may, for convention’s sake, still offer themselves as democratic, and a huge percentage of the populous still believe this to be true, but it is not true; it is absolutely false. Successive western governments have been subverted, diverted and perverted by Big Money. Governments, without regard for the needs of the people they represent, do Big Money’s bidding first. When democracy, real democracy happened post war, it filled our protesting streets with outraged citizens. Governmental reaction, instead of considering the cause of this citizen outrage, was swift and absolutely brutal. These people were (we were told)  anarchists, Communists and dangerously irresponsible drug addicts. Demonised by the press as a threat to society, the people, exercising their democratic rights, were variously beaten up,  incarcerated, shot, gassed and murdered.  Thousands went to jail. Amazingly and upon examination these ‘anarchists’, these ‘Communists’, turned out to be young, normal, upright citizens exercising their democratic right to object.  They were, not unreasonably, objecting to their  government’s habit of declaring war on small Asian countries or  bombing tiny (often neutral) foreign countries ‘back into the Stone Age’.  The people were demanding that it be stopped.  Money decided that this was a very bad idea.  War, after all, had kept the US economy bouyantly rich for over a century.  There were massive profits to be made and nothing, neither the people, nor governments nor indeed democracy itself must be allowed to interfere with that..

In February of this year (2016) Albert Woodfox was released from jail. He had just served 43 years in solitary confinement. His cell was six feet wide and nine feet long.

Woodfox was a member of the Black Panthers, a group of black activists who were all jailed in 1972. All these years later, Woodfox’s conviction was judged to be unconstitutional and was twice overturned by a federal court. He left jail an innocent man.

Other Panthers were Kenny Whitmore, Robert King and Herman Wallace. Whitmore spent thirty years in solitary confinement before being allowed out of isolation. He remains in prison. King was released in 2001. Wallace was released in 2013 and died two days later.

There are however rich rewards for those who suck up to money, (Ed.)

I mention the Black Panthers here because I see them as a perfect example of revenge, the vindictively unforgiving revenge of the system. Having the temerity to object is bad enough: having the temerity to be black and object is even worse; but having the temerity to be black, to call yourself a Black Panther and to offer a closed fist challenge to the world at large is absolutely the supreme ‘uppity nigger’ insult. How dare they even begin to think that they are equal?  What absolute, presumptuous gall!  Clap ‘em in irons for all eternity! That’ll teach them a lesson!

What a sad, dispiriting world we have allowed to develop around us. Money talks and governments listen.  I think that a bit of revolution might help. It didn’t do the French any harm.