LAST RITES

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I guess the Australian Labor Party are a little slow to learn that power does not reside in the tearing down of citizens but in the building of nations…

If Bill Shorten had listened to the rubble of our fallen concrete cousins, if Chris Bowen had learned from the ghosts of Western ideological revolutions, if anyone within a thousand miles of Canberra had invested in a history book – I wouldn’t be sitting here writing a gloating eulogy to Socialism.

There has been a great deal of mulling about over the spectacular and poorly predicted loss that Labor experienced in the 2019 Federal Election. In truth the reason for this bloody field with bits of Shorten poking out of the grass is deceptively simple.

Humans are predictable.

They vote for survival, safety and prosperity. You cannot bribe away freedom when the trapdoor to impending hell has been left open. A glint of the executioner’s blade is all it takes to startle a Medieval crowd. Bowen was careless with his, wearing it as a steel kerchief to press conferences. It is no wonder he spent the last week of the election campaign confined to purgatory and was subsequently tossed from the palace into oblivion after the loss.

Bill Shorten’s idea was well rehearsed.

He and the Labor Party took the position of deity reaching into the moral, financial and private lives of Australians. They exceeded the role of government by parading around on a vulgar Climate Change cult float cheered on by a tiny crowd of inner city elites and their university indentured offspring. What they failed to realise is that nothing much has changed in 10,000 years. Fundamentally, citizens want government protection hitched to personal privacy – like a teenager that still comes home to mother for the washing and a few extra dollars when times get tough. What the Australian population do not want is a boarding school overlord with a cane in one hand and list of demands in the other.

It was not only Shorten’s extensive itinerary of terror that lofted the eyebrows of the electorate. Labor presented a risk in a time of uncertainty. Risk requires reward. Shorten forgot to bring a carrot.

In the face of this unappealing Powerpoint presentation, all Scott Morrison had to do was act normal. Anything short of ‘Communist dictator in waiting’ would suffice and that is exactly what he did. He went from town to town looking slightly dorkish promising not to openly rob people’s grandparents or steal their cars. However angry Australians were at Malcolm Turnbull’s mess or The Nationals’ under performance, this looked a darn sight more appealing than a bunch of pirates sailing into the harbour.

Mind you, it would be a mistake to read Morrison’s victory as anything other than a tentative second chance.

Labor lost this election all on their own and in the months since the Liberals have been trying but somewhat failing to make promising conservative noises. If they want to fix the open wounds dripping on the floor of parliament after Turnbull’s assault someone is going to have to grow a spine and start fronting up to the tough decisions. Morrison definitely has problems with his leadership and despite what may prove to be good intentions, complacency or misplaced honour threatens to do serious damage to our nation.

Machiavelli had a warning for leaders like Scott Morrison: if you come to power owing too much to a particular faction your leadership will be forever crippled by its difficult birth. He’s had several opportunities to cut his chains but he didn’t. Now Morrison wears them in view of the public after he was shuffled into the leadership by the left factions like a card pulled from the dealer’s sleeve. Voters might be persuaded to overlook this cheat against Peter Dutton if Morrison were to perform a grand gesture. Pulling out of the suicidal United Nations Paris Agreement is a theatrical start. Waltz out in front of the cameras. Tear it into little shreds. Rain it down over the steps of parliament like confetti. Yes – that would have worked a treat. Pretending that it is merely a pledge about emissions – not so much…

There are other immediate catastrophes.

Freedom of Speech is starting to sound like a barbarian horde beating bronze swords against wooden shields thanks to corporations backed by international Social Media companies accidentally revealing their overreach into sovereign law.

Talking trash online has escalated to the urgent requirement for a United States style Bill of Rights.

To be fair we are a young country that has not had to fight its way through dictatorial tyrannies. The political gentleness of our infancy is a mercy but when coupled with woeful education in the history of barbarous ideas it has become a problem. Our freedoms were gifted by battles fought on distant lands but now those wars are returning, attached to our shores by threads of cyberspace. We forgot to build a fort. No one can hold a spear. Worse still, we are burdened with an oblivious youth indoctrinated into the Helicopter Cult of ‘corporate culture’. Millennials are more than happy to allow Silicon Valley to dictate the terms of engagement in exchange for ‘likes’.

Narcissism is as good a reason as any to collapse a country, I guess…

Out comes Scott Morrison, coaxed to the cameras by a rabid thrum of reporters who have only recently discovered that freedom is under threat despite ‘quiet’ Australians routinely snuffed from existence during decade long skirmishes charged with the crime of ‘opinion’. You might be insufferably late to the party boys but there are plenty of pitchforks against the wall. Pick one up, take a number and get in line.

Adding furniture to freedom’s funeral pyre, a popular sports star has been imprisoned in the stocks for Instagramming a Bible verse containing vague threats of existential torment. It’s pretty par-for-the-course stuff as far as deities are concerned. What’s not so normal is the case of a sponsor encouraging a business to sack an employee because of their virtual speech within the private sphere. Hearing the ominous rumble of litigation, everyone should have cooled their heels and backed off but instead these virtuous companies have invested so much capital in their ‘ethics advertising’ they’ve no choice except to see this mess to the bitter end. Which they will lose – knocking the lid off Pandora’s box.

Of course, this should’ve been tested long ago when businesses first decided to hire and fire ordinary people based upon their (private) Social Media accounts but it has taken a national interest to open the conversation in front of the law.

My fears lay here.

If Scott Morrison wades in (which ultimately he must) he will make the mistake of legislating religious speech instead of drawing the line on corporate overreach.

Listen carefully to our Prime Minister’s statements. In protecting speech we cannot accidentally protect religious practice from the reach of law. This separation of ideas is crucial because religions who are offered protection above the law create a tyranny of their own. Any law created must not single religion out but rather cover the breadth of speech and rescind that vile 18C legislation which only serves to invite social justice onto the front lines and with it all the horror of demons drafting dogma.

This amendment, whose purpose is to enshrine our birthright to speak our mind, must be done with as few brushstrokes as possible. Civil liberties are a canvas easily crowded and conflicted by legal smudging. Brevity is key.

Mind you, it is not only the type of speech that requires protection but where we may speak.

The internet bewilders government. It is a complex medium owned by no one but for the purpose of law it can be viewed as the public forum where all freedoms afforded to a private space must be extended. The onus should be on a company to specifically identify a ‘work environment’ operating upon these Social Media platforms such as a webpage owned or operated by that company.

While it is reasonable to extend a work environment to the company Twitter page, it remains unreasonable to demand employees abide by their Code of Conduct across all of Twitter.

For example, a company can fire you for your conversation inside their building but not on the street. Renting a building does not give them jurisdiction over the local pub or the jokes you crack while out with your mates. Social Media is the same – a network of buildings and streets. The law should be able to tell the difference.

The debate has exposed some interesting observations.

Firstly, the behaviour of the self-identified, ‘Progressive Left’. Here be the lesson… You cannot be both a Progressive Left Libertarian who supports Freedom of Speech while also delving into historic revenge karma to be exacted on modern followers of a religion. That makes you – something else entirely… Keep an eye on those who revel in the subjugation of ideas they don’t like. These are the new oppressors. They are in the throes of evolving into what they claim to hate.

Secondly, most institutions be they religious, political, social or corporate are sleeping giants waiting for the turn tide. It is the law that holds back these grasping hands and it must be constructed carefully. Drafting legislation in this domain is not a matter of stepping away from the waves but rather maintaining the breakwall against the storm. Any or all of these players are a threat to democracy and none of them should be given special consideration. Social Media giants are the most recent to prove themselves unsuitable to wield the power they’ve stumbled into. Their first instinct has been to control, silence and lord around as unelected moral dictators. They will collapse as they overreach – either abandoned by their users or broken apart by the government.

…That is if Scott Morrison’s government acts like the USA instead of China. Stay away from the European Union mate, they are three foot deep in censorship.

This conflict to protect our basic rights trickles back down to Bill Shorten’s election and Labor’s recurring lover – Socialism. It might be dressed up in emerald robes with a touch of death cult chanting off to the side but Labor’s policies were and still are designed to extend government control over property, finance, employment and yes – speech. It is being flogged half-price by the Greens as some form of moral superiority. A kindness. Socialism often pretends to smooth the rough edges of human behaviour under the guise of ‘social cohesion’ but really all it does is lull the world into quiet slavery – stifling the chaos required to give rise to brilliance. As a species, we need the noise. Freedom is where we thrive. There is no freedom in a world where corporations and government hug the nation at the throat.

As an idea, Socialism and its fellow weed Communism should have died but unlike its victims, ideas never have more than one foot in the grave. They resurrect themselves and plague the foolish like great battle swords set in glass cabinets preserved for inevitable war.

Attacking from several flanks, there is no moral consistency to this movement. We have animal welfare organisations arguing for the saviour of a single bird whilst perfectly happy to usher in a new age of extinction against farm animals simply because they don’t like their evolutionary credentials. Animal lives are divided into social statuses in the same way Labor divides human society based upon race, gender, sexuality, religious persuasion, environmental philosophy and all manner of increasingly small compartments. They would prefer issues undergo trial by public opinion rather than submit them to a steady line of reason and while Al Gore becomes a verb associated with failure, he is replaced by more dangerous advocates like child prophets and corporate cabals.

To those on the Left I say, tyranny is easy – freedom is hard.

Speech has consequences – to your feelings but they should never draw the attention of a courtroom unless they trip over libel, defamation and incitement.

If you ask me to check my privilege – you should check your sanity.

So, excuse me while I scrape the layer of frost off my laptop to read these alarmist tweets about Global Warming and dismay at the media disinterest at the underlying motivation dragging a fortune from our coffers while lowering the bars on speech.

Never forget, Socialism does not enforce a moral order of good manners. It is a political system designed to constrain the citizens with poverty so that the vengeance and savagery of the elites can riot. The cliff to this political dystopia is deceptively close with Labor’s policies serving as the final shove. A mistake crumbles the rock several metres from the edge before we wake up at the bottom, bruised and broken in our own Venezuela with Skippy on the spit roast.

Our freedom is a fading mirage at the cusp of sunset – disappointing, translucent and fragile. There are beautiful colours playing in the light and a transfixed crowd of quietly hopeful admirers but I suspect that all the noise and all effort has been set up for squander.

Perhaps Australia has entered the family of nations too easily. Sponsored by battle-hardened parents we have never had the chance to meditate on our precarious existence as a small nation in a world of powerful ideas. Where are our wits as large, hostile entities flex their intentions? We continue to entrench ourselves beneath their wings…

Global Corporatism may prove to be just as destructive as its red sisters.

THREE MINUTES FROM MARS

FORWARD NOTE: This was written specifically for a competition with the prompt, ‘the next great hashtag’. It was finished early December, 2018 before #TimesUP became a worldwide trend on the cover of every major publication relating to Theresa May, the EU and the #Metoo phenomenon. In the wake of the Copyright Directive vote and battles such as the Vox Adpocalypse – we are deep in the grip of a new censorship age.

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It emerged in late 2018, crawling out of the Twitter swamp. Admittedly more of a groan than a whisper. Coughed up rather than eloquently writ large across a broadsheet.

Of course, its final destination was always going to be a glossy cover spread with all the lofty serifs attempting to etch a dash of validity to an unglamorous origin, as if its own merit and messy birth were not enough to recommend it to history’s hide. That’s the awkward thing about headlines these days, they appear without permission. A real story rudely thrives in defiance of the press who are too often left stumbling behind the tide, chasing their fishing lines through stinking mud while rogue bloggers wave at them from bespoke barges, knocking back a few Chardies. Freelancers are back and this time they have flags lashed to misappropriated selfie-sticks.

#TimesUp.

You can see the text smashing back and forth in the stiff, salted air.

To the legacy press, the Internet may as well be a gentle swell tugged around the uncharted edges of the world, held together by nothing tangible except its own mass. Hashtag warriors patrol the foreshore and despite a few incursions by the systematic propaganda machines of Facebook et al, it remains largely a natural ecosystem.

Perhaps unique, the Internet was founded on the purest coalition of Western freedoms. It is an agreement between individuals and institutions unwisely devoted to the shrine of Open-Source from which unbridled opportunity surged – too late for anyone to draw the cautionary Pandora allegory. Difficult to describe and poorly understood, its enigmatic qualities protected it from the reach of slow-footed governments for twenty years. Within a blink of humanity’s reign, the Internet revolutionised the transmission of knowledge, altered the evolution of our language, exposed falsely peddled ideology that previously enjoyed the shade and tore the curtain on totalitarians who would very much like us to take the whole thing back.

They’ve asked us politely.

Nothing to worry about, eh? Not quite.

As our charming moral arbiters often remind us, #TimesUp. The oceans are evaporating. The coral is migrating North to #Gab while the libertarian whales are being speared through the #Patreon and dragged onto censorship trawlers leaving grisly stains in the water. Listen carefully, when Internet parents Vint Cert, Tim Berners-Lee, Jimmy Wales and Brewster Kahle give you a rap over the knuckles and warn that the Internet is being, ‘turned into a tool for the automated surveillance and control of its users’ it is probably time to shuffle forward and pay attention.

Whilst spot on with their doomsday date of 2020, #ClimateAlarmists somewhat misidentified the endangered species. #TimesUp indeed but for what? We’re not quite sure… Freedom or suppression? Globalism or national sovereignty? The Powers That Be have clued into our little free-market gig and naturally swung a sickle at our necks. We are in those opening bars of Ravel’s ‘Boléro’ where 280 characters acts as our percussionist, scaffolding the rising ebbs of dissatisfied protest into hashtags of rebellion, easily copied into larger articles mocking Twitter outrage. If you can see the embers, I suggest you turn around – feel the heat. The Internet’s defence is worth our attention or else don’t be surprised when the plebs pile furniture onto the pyre.

Chaos is our natural state of affairs. Those born in the last fifty years are the unlikely sailor who, having happened upon the Drake Passage at rest, wrongly believes her waters to be made of glass. Instead of reeling at the first ripple along the indelible border between sky and sea, he lingers to watch the evening roll in, unable to imagine the wrecks beneath the water and whispering ghosts of forgotten monoliths set to bed by a quick Wikipedia edit. Look for him now – drowned and silent. #TimesUp for those content to hang from the rafters and let the disaffected crowds sidle by. They have started chipping at the concrete slab and sawing off the scaffolding.

Our sharpest academics could not have predicted a world swayed by a president at the helm of a hashtag, undoing even the most careful of institutionalised propaganda with fragments of text – though I dare say that is only because they lack imagination. We should listen to the merchants, not the envoys of our stifled universities.

‘Diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valour and the sloth has ruined more nations than the sword.’

From the mists of 1711, Sir Andrew Freeport enjoyed sufficient clarity of our future. He recognised the twin pillars of power. One resting atop quivering towers of tax, is gilded with beautiful distraction like the coffers of a temple vault, in this case manned by eurocrats and bureaucrats, protected by veils of process and legislation. The second waits. What it lacks in aesthetics it makes up for in breadth and height, mistaken for a mountain range growing over the point where the tectonic forces of poverty meet hope. Now would be the time to pray, before the seismic slip. With nothing save the power to shift rock an entire castle of tyranny may be set upon and carried away, stone by stone. #TimesUp. The cracks are forming. The people have seen their own shadow cast across the water, outstripping the first.

How did we get here? We must assign some blame to ourselves for it is our own civil cowardice that allowed those entrusted with the keys to leave the door open. Edmund Burke’s praised observation that, ‘History is a pact between the dead, the living, and those yet unborn’ unravels the moment you realise tomorrow is promised to no one. Civilisation is little more than a collection of pillars clawing at the sky and you would be remiss to imagine them impervious to extinction.

When a population can distill its grievance into 280 characters, the ruling class has a problem. People can feel freedom die. They notice the wet fingers around their necks. A thread of censorship here. A firewall over there… If institutions like the European Union are foolish enough to insist upon securing power through silence they might find themselves brushing hashtags with #TimesUp.

Yes, it is possible that we threw the first stone into the pond. As widespread literacy tumbled entrenched theocracies it would be a dangerous persuasion to believe that the noise from Twitter is a storm in a teacup – or that a hashtag is a fleeting sigh of wind in the sail. For all the hashtags that bury themselves in the bedrock, the sea itself lifts, greater always than what came before. #TimesUp on collective retconning. Hashtags share RNA with viral entities, side-stepping time lines, algorithms and suppression orders before shuffling even the smallest voice to a brief climax. When dragged beneath the waves its mark of absence remains as a, ‘no longer available’ hole in our script.

This censorship is not imagined. We are all stuck in an archaic paradox of a virtual witch trial. Hear no evil. See no evil. Don’t even think of defining evil. No evil shall be done upon you – unless of course you follow a contrarian. Somehow we’ve allowed a version of China’s pernicious Social Credit Scheme to invade our psyche. Popularity is the new ‘truth’ and for those who blaspheme the executioner’s axe sits beneath several thousand poorly edited pages of benign looking waffle. #UN, the proliferators of digital barbed wire, package terror in plain sight. It has become fashionable to drape layers of incomprehensibility over law to ensure no objection is noted on the public record, much like a planning application in a government basement. Take caution, one day the building may be a pile of ash but the words you attempted to hide leave their press on history – this time headed by a hashtag.

#TimesUp for these cheap linguistic tricks.

Is Freedom not a flight of romance? Humanity stumbled into its spell, locking eyes across the scattered fields of war. We embraced its volatile love and indulged until strewn on the shore, watching it fade into the fog of memory. We lounge back now and recall fondly those wild years of Summer.

Western Civilisation is faced with a generation who ache for the tyranny of oppression and the virtue of silence. They are seduced by Socialism floating off the coast, unable to see the reality of those already shipwrecked upon her shores. The brutal torture of commonplace malice left to fester, unchecked – the nightmare of starvation, servitude, bones and decaying thrones. A fatal shore, if you will, drowning idealists drawn to her duplicitous mirage. There is comfort in this grave. Solace in the nothingness but give me the rabble any day. Give me the noise of freedom. Every. Last. Scream.

If you prefer, I can play the levity card. The meme war against the #EU and its propaganda champion, Axel Voss has been a riot with combatants resurrecting Microsoft Paint, roping the forgotten graphics programme into the fray to gift satire the wings to circumnavigate copyright. Off it went, squawking across the Twitterverse like a ravenous chorus of gulls. Falsities don’t enjoy mockery and memes have this refined within a breath of art. Be warned, I am absolutely sincere when I suggest that these fringe battles are the muddying waters of a far greater conflict between those who believe censorship is the yellow brick road to power and everyone else, who quite rightly, keep telling them to bugger off with a hashtag. #SaveYourInternet.

Speaking of, there’s a false premise knocking around that Earth is a species of glass marble. #GlobalWarming #ClimateChange alarmists would have us believe that if we breathe too hard the whole thing will shatter into an Al Gorean snowstorm and leave a ring of ice in orbit. Remember, these are the same people who think lassoing asteroids into our general vicinity is somehow a good idea. If it’s a cataclysm they’re after, they might want to visit The Australian Museum and ask a dinosaur how the Cretaceous ended. #TimesUp really will be the hashtag of un-ironic choice if we let these geniuses loose with a thousand pounds of rocket fuel.

Buried under this lunacy, humanity shares one cloistered desire. Freedom; the dream that we can never quite hold on to. It is as water to us. Sometimes we bathe and drink from it in excess. Sometimes it evaporates and taunts us from the deserts of the sky. It swells our flesh and in its withdrawal – we die. It is our birthright and with every fallen soldier to its cause, another drop is added to the ocean. As much as humanity neither learns nor improves the less helpful of its traits at least when we go to war it is with ideas. #TimesUp for this reverie.

Barring a coughing fit at Yellowstone, a global apocalypse is probably not on 2019’s to-do list. Don’t get too comfy. #Globalism may as well be scorched earth politics and it’s coming at us on a pretty clearly defined orbital path. I refuse to believe that Australia is to be shackled to this idealogical suicide pact dreamt up by the #UN, funded by the #EU and endorsed by a cohort of grasping politicians. Nations do not endure without constant care and our leaders’ illiteracy of online platforms is going to be our downfall.

Language is unplanned. Most often it is a defiance against rigid institutions who do their best to weigh words down with regulation. Early mobile phones placed character limits on humanity and we immediately adapted, condensing thoughts to bubbles of barely phonic clusters that mutated back to pictorial expressions. Our deepest language roots came full circle in the manifestation of emoticons. Instant messaging expanded our word count but enforced speed, creating an entirely new discourse of acronymic expression, irreverent memes and smoke stacks of in-jokes that eventually congealed into a culture entirely of its own, separate from a single country but fiercely loyal to its first flourish of freedom.

Enter Twitter – the re-imagined Roman forum. Here, the people were free to holler into the void like birds from the depths of the rainforest, looking for each other amid the violent tangle of green. Now the platform has wandered down the cliff and found itself in the harbour’s vengeful embrace.

Take a closer look at the barge and its growing cluster of bloggers. Notice those in the water, thrashing through the waves with a fin in pursuit – grasping at the floating bundle of tinder. Pay attention to the waterline inching between the wood – the bullet holes in the single white flag. #TimesUp. They’re sinking.

And so to this I offer a cautionary tale. Here is your story, in all its unpolished tardiness. Brevity cuts. Freedom is a hashtag.

#TimesUp.

– ellymelly (a concerned citizen)

SETTING FIRE TO A PHOENIX

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Outside something is dying. I can hear it squealing in the dark. Some poor bird entrapped in a firm set of jaws. Teeth pushing through its bones and flesh. These are the sounds you hear at night on the farm, echoing down the river until they’re suffocated by the banks of sheoak and overhanging teatree that dip into the water without so much as a ripple. The initial panic is followed by an occasional squawk – a shuffle of feathers against the grass and finally, the cows who wander indifferently across the slaughter. Later, the mists thicken. The clouds fall away from the sky and the blackest nights are lit by a peaceful hue of starlight. It’s like the violence never happened.

This is how politicians die – in a flurry of spectacle before being hurriedly folded into the deck. A slight of hand.

Very few hear the actual slaughter, even fewer the event itself but one thing is certain, by the time morning dawns the fallen politician has been replaced by a fresh suit and a clean slate. Humanity, personality, charisma, opinion – these are all the perceived enemy of the new political class. Our major parties would prefer if their MPs were born at fifty as historical orphans with no future beyond the years they’ll spend in office reciting the party line.

This is the safe game.

As a result of this bubble-wrap approach, the majority of representatives are elected purely upon inferred merit inherited from the party despite voters having no opinion whatsoever about the actual person being elected. This is a fabulous shortcut but a precarious situation for a country which ends up having its laws drafted by a pack of strangers.

Having set the standard for perfection at the brevity of a headstone it becomes decidedly easy to remove MPs who divert from the party’s pre-ordained path. A minor infraction is all that’s required. A Tweet excavated from childhood. An innocuous private photograph or ill-conceived joke. Something written in college or, for those who are deemed worthy of perishing in a hail of headlines, a scandal in the style of HBO – tits out, blood on the floor…

The power given to the Press to make or break our elected leaders is staggering.

Without much effort, their coverage can fashion the knives with which political opponents strike. Elections are relegated to a baptismal formality rather than their intended kingmaker status. We have become voyeurs to a system engineered to use the common man as scaffolding. And what is scaffolding but something to be removed and thrown away when the building is complete…

As with the notorious trolling group SleepingGiants, the only reason that the Press are in possession of such power is through the endorsement of parties all too eager to rid themselves of political dead weight but lack the courage to do the deed themselves. More often than not, their back room whispers are where the damaging stories start and the quills sharpened. Somewhere in a desk drawer, there are incriminating post-it notes collected at candidacy to ensure any god may be slain and that no one be allowed to rise above the faceless men at the helm. At the end of the day, all of our politicians are poppies bowing their heads toward open scissors.

It is an ecosystem that gifts exceptional power to the party factions at the expense of rigorous politics.

This regrettable situation is endured by the voting public because very few mechanisms exist to protest its existence. The public must vote for candidates who are first chosen by a party. If a line of clones are on offer, there is nothing to do but scan a barcode at the ballot box.

For the industrious and brave, stepping out as an independent proves a costly venture. The reality is that you must have a considerable amount of money to represent the people but not necessarily good sense. While the Press are friendly to the established card-board cuts outs, they pick up their pitchforks and hound anyone who falls outside the fold with a voracity common to Necrotizing Fasciitis. The entrails of those who failed are often seen dragged behind campaign buses to be used as an anecdote when a diversion is required.

But wait – this is not the whole story of our political world.

Every now and then the weakened lungs of democracy cough up the most feared of all politicians… Like an exorcism these people arrive without warning to rain down havoc on the established order.

I am speaking of course, of a contrarian. An adversary to the elite.

They are a figurehead of public opinion and great care must be taken by anyone who opposes them for they are no longer simply the flip of the political coin – this person represents the people and their interests. You are looking at a champion of democracy and there is nothing in human history more persuasive than a martyr.

These rare individuals climb the steps onto the political stage eliciting a hush from within the crowd. It is the still of night when a sword has been taken to the moon and it lies on its side, half in shadow. The insects of the swamp tap their antennae against one another. A feather tumbles between the swaying grass and everything waits.

Hands wrapped around the edge of the lectern, they pause to take a good long look at the score card before holding it aloft to a stifled gasp. Then, a match is passed beneath the waxed cardboard and it is left to fall to the ground aflame.

They are the individuals who refuse to play by the tiresome rules of national nihilism. You will never find them with an exposed neck near a chopping block. Indeed, they are the only ones who seem to realise that politics is about the people, not the system.

When you understand this you also privy to the contents of a dangerous and well kept secret.

Traditional politicians like Bill Shorten crave power but they are ignorant to its origin. Sure, their electioneering skills are second to none (except possibly Clive Palmer) and on occasion their deep pockets buy them a slice of polling supremacy but – but… The great leaders of our history do not pay for power as if the voting booths are rooms to let at a Roman brothel, it is laid at their feet to the sound of raucous cheers. Call it Populisim if you like or more simply the underrated art of listening.

A true leader begins with empathy and ends as a servant of the people. That is the purpose of a politician. To serve and to listen. When these flukes of the system appear they are unstoppable because you do not face a person on the other side of the ballot, you face the country.

The established political class have always been caught expressing an unkind view of the masses who elect them. Whether it be Caligula’s wish, ‘Would that the people of Rome had but one neck, I would slit it…’ in his understandably short reign as Roman emperor or United States presidential hopeful Hillary Clinton’s 2016, ‘basket of deplorables’ comment which shall we say was, misjudged.

The grandeur of their office or power of their platform affords these political figures an inflated self importance leading them to woeful Freudian slips common to celebrities who forget that they are paid to read other people’s lines for a living.

Mistaking the writhing hordes of cameras for actual adulation, politicians are quick to forget that they are entrusted with other people’s money – people who are usually significantly worse off than them. Flaunting this absconded wealth does them no favours. And so we have the situation where a treasurer announcing a budget thinks his billion dollar spend is a grand gesture to win votes when in reality the public see their stolen cash consumed by the industry of politicking.

In steps a Trump. A Pauline Hanson… These are the Machiavellian princes at the gates of the city besieged from within by institutionalised rot. It is said that a leader will be despised if he is changeable, foolish, weak, mean and uncertain – Australia, take your pick. Leaders in this circumstance are wise to fear everyone and everything and so even a minor party like Pauline Hanson’s One Nation or a property developer with an empowering slogan can shake the bars of the cage clean off.

Greatness, courage, seriousness and strength. A little wit wouldn’t go astray. These are the qualities forged in those who stand up against the tide and are craved by those who struggle to survive.

The danger of a Pauline Hanson to Australia’s political establishment is profound. Her policies expose weakness of character in the conservative parties while her heart leaves the left a shrivelled, self-serving shell. You can tell how seriously the major parties and Press take her threat by the severity with which they seek to punish her existence, hounding her campaign, magnifying missteps and paying for fiction when their treacherous-foreign shovels come up empty. As with Donald Trump and the Steele Dossier, if you’re going to kill a brown snake make sure you bloody well know what you’re doing because you’ll only get one chance.

The Press missed with Donald Trump and created an untouchable president, emboldened by survival and the people love it. Not only does scandal fall on deaf ears, when the Press whisper it is their own organisation left painted as a conspirator. The damage they did to themselves unjustly setting out to destroy a man of the people has created not only one phoenix but a movement across the world. Donald Trump is protected from idle chatter while ever he sits behind the presidential desk. He cannot be unmade by the Press – only the people who sat him in the chair.

In Australian politics, Pauline Hanson is a different iteration of the phoenix narrative. Like Trump, her political opponents dragged her toward a bundle of wood left in the town square, expelling her from the Liberal party only for her to win Oxley at the 1996 election in defiance and on her own merits. Petulant, her peers in parliament walked out on her now infamous maiden in speech and in doing so, those foolish ministers walked out on the voice Australians had put in parliament. They were told to listen and they refused. It was the first of several strategic mistakes for the majors, the next coming when Pauline was unjustly (and incorrectly) sentenced to three years’ of prison over an electoral fraud charge that was later overturned. Backed by the then Prime Minister, John Howard – this action was seen as an extraordinary attempt to remove a political force from the stage. Bronwyn Bishop said it best when she spoke to Channel Seven:

“It’s gone beyond just political argy-bargy of political opponents. I think the fact that she has been charged and convicted and sentenced to three years’ jail is just outrageous. We don’t have political prisoners in our country and that’s what we’ve got today.” – Bronwyn Bishop

The striking of the match against the thatch had failed. Having survived the worst possible punishment for a political dissenter in this country, Pauline donned a fresh set of armour.

Learning nothing, the Press continue to sneer at every opportunity but as with the whispers of CNN against Trump, they serve to further isolate the people. Pauline has become the embodiment of the Australian story – a battler faithful to the country she serves – not the interests of those who seek to control her. She isn’t born of an appalling gender quota. There was no flock of factional cronies orchestrating her rise. Her voice, like it or not, is hers and hers alone.

Repeatedly we have watched her taken to the edge, driven there by betrayal or disappointment but unlike her peers who fold away and save themselves the heartache, Pauline Hanson refuses to break despite the tears. Channel 9’s A Current Affair thought they had a ‘gotcha’ moment with Pauline cornered, alone and distraught, softly prompting her to lay down arms and abandon politics for her own good but they could not have predicted a woman in possession of unwavering fortitude.

Pauline looked down the camera of her metaphoric captor with no attempt to hide the raw pain of all that she had endured. Then she did something extraordinary. She refused to give in.

“I’ve copped it more than once and I’ll keep getting up and have another go until the people don’t want to vote for me. [ … ] I have been let down dreadfully. Not by him. I can give you a whole list of them. A whole list who have actually. So just don’t put the blame on them. I’ve had Fraser Anning, I’ve had Brian Burston, I’ve had a whole list of them – David Oldfield. You name them. Where are they now? Where are they?! I have stuck with this because I believe in making a change for the people.”

Tracy Grimshaw: “Why are you still in it? Why are you still in it? Look at you. Why don’t you walk? Look at what it’s doing to you…”

“Tracy I’ve made a change out there for people. I save people from losing their lands. I have helped the farming sector. I have helped those kids out there get apprenticeship schemes that was introduced this year by the government. My scheme. I am hoping to get water inland to help the farming sector in the Murray Darling – and I’ll do it.”

Scott Morrison and Bill Shorten can subject themselves to all the ‘Leader’s debates’ they like – neither of them will earn of a measure of what Pauline did in this short interview. It was her soul on show for all to see. The absolute assurance that her reason for being in politics is to serve the people at any cost to herself. She does what is hard because it is right and she fights for those who are of no consequence to the elite because they carry no significant political advantage. The farmers. The poor. They are of value to her because they are Australians.

If you had to leave the survival of Australia on the shoulders of one person in a room full of wolves, she is the only member of parliament I trust when the doors are closed and the cameras are off.

She gets frustrated and upset, has been betrayed and made mistakes from which she has learned – she wears her heart on her sleeve but her reasons for being here matter. Not even her harshest critics can pretend that Pauline is anything other than loyal.

So, while Shorten practices his ghoulish smirk and Morrison smiles – as our major parties trouble themselves with how many bits of Australia can be lopped off and sold to their mates for international economic sweeteners – what laws can be drafted to infringe upon our right to speak and how our political systems might be manipulated to lock us into the twin pillars of green and greener – remember who faced the camera and refused to stop fighting.

Democracy itself is a fire. It started in the stranglehold of oppression where the first contrary voices fought their way out of the crowd. Humanity is not a blank slate. We cannot be painted like a red banner at the start of a Marxist revolution or pushed into uniforms, branded and told to act like thoughtless copies of each other.

No one is no one… We all have a history. Every knock is recorded. You cannot erase the people with flames any more than you can set fire to a phoenix.

-by ellymelly

ADRIFT

thinkerlarge

The world is either coming to an end – or it’s not.

Every successful political tyranny understands that civilisation has an inbuilt emergency setting. The big red button. When activated, humans of every ilk will set aside their selfish genes – cast off material ambition – down the tools of common conflict and work a unity ticket in the name of survival.

This mechanism is a gift of our violent history. We use it to endure horrific accidents, sustained warfare, plague, starvation, and of course those rare cracks in our epoch when we can do nothing but watch as nature tears apart reality. These are the moments of humbling terror. The flashes where annihilation reminds us that we are a wink in the dark.

It is very important to understand that this survival instinct is first and foremost unsustainable.

Primarily an emotion, it compels us to do things that we would not ordinarily consider including activities against our civilisational interest. When it ends – and it will always end – whatever embers of society that have endured will face upheaval as all the pieces try to shuffle themselves back together on a broken board.

The West lost alcoves of its psyche during World Wars that can never be replaced. Many for the better, a lot for the worse but all at the cost of 100 million lives. Entire generations were stolen and those who survived faced decades of poverty. The Millennial empire may be genuinely unaware but peace is purchased with leagues of blood so we should hold onto it for as long as possible and cherish every day our swords remain sheathed.

Crying wolf about this sort of approaching hell takes radical stupidity, moral vacuousness or both. Certainly, chaos is not the ground upon which anyone should construct a political thesis – unless you’re short-sighted.

Apocalypse-politics preys on the camaraderie of fear.

Labor knows how easy it is to terrify people into dropping a vote at the ballot box. Union thuggery has worked this way for the best part of a century and now they’ve reared a generation to be Climate-god fearing in the Greek fashion. I’m frankly surprised we’re not at the point of vegan-virgin sacrifices in the public square to make amends for our iphone emissions.

When this eco-cataclysmic philosophy is embraced, there’s no need to sell boring economic facts that feel like an abstraction in the face of brimstone. Of course who cares about the economy if we’re all going to die!? A solid budget for future success pales in the shadow of the Socialist spend. This is the argument of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez who laughs at the challenge of balancing a budget to pay for the great climate war as if she is the general in an existential conflict instead of a backwater politician facing a campaign fund scandal. What is money anyway but a sin of Capitalism? Unless it’s your tax money arriving in their campaign accounts – then Socialists perk right up.

The glaring truth observed by the ordinary citizen is that the governments writing doomsday prophecy do not believe their own press releases.

We are not relocating our capital cities into the mountains for fear of ocean inundation. Politicians haven’t grounded the aviation industry or scaled back their personal indulgences. World conflict hasn’t been snuffed for the greater good as you would expect if the world’s leaders truly thought that there was a serious threat to their survival. No. We continue to prop up corrupt governments with aid as they mulch through irreplaceable natural resources. Meanwhile France’s Renewable Energy Regime all looks a bit pointless as the streets of Paris are set on fire every weekend, billowing thick smoke across the horizon in an ironic stain.

Seriously… The elite class strapping a token solar panel to their sprawling air-conditioned mansions with heated pools and more rare earth scrap metal than Southern China is not a sign of the ‘end times’. It is indicative of a scam.

As is the constant in politics the world over, it is for the plebs to suffer the consequence of Dante politicking.

The poorest are tasked with the bill while the top end of town have nothing to fear from the likes of Bill Shorten, Labor or their notorious punch-spiking wingman the Greens. Everyone else I advise, buyer beware. There is no money left in the kitty for vanity projects which is why Shorten intends to take the balance directly from you under the guise of a moral veil. He will tax you to death and follow you into the grave, resurrecting the hated ‘death duties’ in which politicians conspire to profit off your grief like a flock of vultures tearing at a corpse on the Savannah. They want you to think that your sacrifice is to stop the rising tide like the virgins tossed into volcanoes. Don’t be a fool. The contents of your wallet is purchasing beach front houses for the rich.

So, let us settle something up front. The world is not ending.

This is nothing more than the archaic argument of ‘ an enemy at the gates’ given a makeover. The aggressor is Capitalism, the battleground is Australia’s economy and the proposed Olympian hero is Socialism. The government is coming to save you from a threat that doesn’t exist. Political parties only require a ludicrous foundation when the policies themselves are ludicrous. Stop and think about how unpalatable these ideas must be for the threat of world wide annihilation to be brought onto the field as a sweetener.

I’m not going to pretend that there are many clean hands in Australian politics.

We’d all be thoroughly shocked if the Greens didn’t employ this tactic and it is practically the party foundation of Shorten’s Labor. However, watching the conservative LNP wade in up to their necks is disappointing to say the least. The purpose of the Liberal-National alliance is to counter-balance the Left’s heavy lean toward large government supremacy but since Malcolm Turnbull had a go at the wheel they’ve developed a taste for climate ponzi schemes for which we are all the poorer.

It’s no surprise that minor parties are back in favour. If nothing else voters feel that they have been bookended by twin pillars of the same philosophy. The tightening of the chain, shall we say. Populism is on the rise well yes that tends to happen when both sides of the political coin adopt unpopular policy.

In lieu of the Budget Reply 2019, the founding premise of Labor’s doomsday campaign can be named as #GlobalCooling #GlobalWarming #ClimateChange. This is the fantasy that, despite all historic evidence to the contrary, the Earth’s climate naturally exists in a static state which humans have wrecked with their technology and now the fiery vaults of the Doom are opening. The ten year deadline on this apocalypse has been shifting since the 70’s and has proven to be about as accurate as a Mayan prophecy.

Never mind the oceans filling with plastic pouring out of the third world’s largest rivers. Don’t look too closely at the ravages of religious war ripping apart the environment across the Middle East. We’re not going to worry about the wood-chipping of the Amazon to make way for palm oil, soy and rubber. It doesn’t matter that the biggest threat to our atmosphere is the loss of the mechanism that generates 20% of the Oxygen we require to keep breathing… Humans are pretty good at navigating temperature change. We don’t do so well with oxygen depletion.

If the United Nations and the Alliance of Virtue Signalling Countries with Shonky Human Rights Records were truly worried they might consider tying aid money to the survival of these last mega rainforests. It’s no good Australians bankrupting ourselves into the Stone Age if the lungs of the world have cancer. A move like this would require political bravery and moral fortitude – neither of which washes up on the shores of parliament very often.

We already know a hiccup of carbon dioxide sends swathes of the Left fainting so how could any eco warrior worth their salt make the case for Solar or Wind over Nuclear energy? Kilowatt per pound of lifetime carbon emission, it’s the gold standard. Indeed, France’s historically low emissions have climbed as it closes its Nuclear power plants in favour of Renewables while Germany has had somewhat of an actual catastrophe. As a country, it has thrown about as much money into Wind and Solar as South Australia and managed to give itself the silver medal in, ‘Europe’s Most Outrageously Priced Energy in the World’ category. Germany’s once stable power grid now suffers through black outs and load sharing mayhem despite subsidies and green levies that set the German taxpayer back nearly one trillion euros.

There’s no end in sight either. Building your power grid around Solar and Wind is the worst idea nation states have ever had. This electricity is unpredictable and expensive. More importantly, it fails to meet the basic requirement of a national energy grid – stability.

What we call ‘baseload’ is the minimum consumption requirement to keep the lights on. Solar and Wind have necessitated the bizarre obligation to build parallel energy grids. It is one thing to supplement baseload with a bit of Wind but quite another to try and run a country on it. As a power source, it tends to average 10% on its promised return peaking at 50% on good days and dropping to literally nothing without warning. Don’t get me started on batteries. Suffice to say there is neither the money nor resources to cover even Germany’s lonely grid.

The natural reality is that traditional sources of energy like Nuclear will always have to prop up the grid but here’s the thing – Nuclear is perfectly capable of running the grid all on its own – so why are we duplicating our costs on a technology that has a habit of slaughtering native birds and bats?

That would be politics getting in the way of progress.

Not only do we have systematic failure with the end product of the Renewables Industry – there’s a taxpayer rort perpetrated at the beginning. Government funded ventures to build Solar, Wind and Wave power (many foreign owned) are taking their pay cheques before folding in on themselves.

Meanwhile, with a mortally wounded power grid staring down inevitable collapse, Bill Shorten and Labor have birthed a remarkable policy to lure what’s left of our energy security into the senate where it will be stabbed repeatedly until finally stumbling over and bleeding out on the floor of parliament.

Who is our Brutus? Mandated electric car purchases.

To clarify – this policy will decree that 50% of all new cars be at least partially electric by 2030 from a market currently at 0.2%. It will impose an emission target on the other 50% which completely bans sales of Australia’s most popular vehicles currently totalling 97% of all purchases – ouch… Businesses will be able to write off 20% of the cost of their electric vehicle worth more than $20,000 (you pay for that) on top of the existing 12.5% (you pay for that too).

Shorten will then author a 200 million cheque to the car industry (which Labor previously argued should not be supported by the government) 100 million of which will go into new charging stations and the rest into the creation of yet more layers of bureaucracy in the guise of COAG. There is no consideration for the wiping out of the mechanical industry surrounding vehicles and contrary to what Shorten has said, electric vehicle manufacturers do not allow third parties to service their batteries. In addition, Federally funded road upgrades and charging stations have about as much chance of reaching Australia’s country areas as the NBN so we can pretty much write this off as another inner city wet dream paid for by Australians who’ll never experience the benefit. Again.

To bring these budgetary figures into perspective. The average Australian pays $10,000 a year in taxes of some kind so Shorten’s little ecar binge would take 20,000 years for you to pay off. Good value? Probably not…

So while we have tens of thousands of vulnerable Australians disconnecting from the power grid every year unable to afford the most basic of first world comforts and pensioners dying in their beds from the cold as they ration their air conditioning, it’s good to know that we’re spending so much money on virtue projects to keep the United Nations happy.

Speaking of that power grid.

Current government policy is to politely request that businesses and home owners reduce their electricity consumption at the height of summer when it’s needed most because after the closure of our largest Coal Fired power stations, it quite literally cannot cope with demand. Like the Germans, we are well acquainted with sustained blackouts and forced power sharing which basically translates to a big F-U to country areas in favour of keeping the city lit.

Even without electric cars leeching off the grid, if Australia doesn’t do something about building baseload power plants immediately Sydney and Melbourne might have to adapt and become vampire enclaves where residents resign themselves to candles and other savageries of the 14th Century. One might imagine that any government currently campaigning for the Federal election might put this at the top of their list. Sadly, focus groups have been taught to resent the very thing that charges their smart phones and no one has the chops to buck up and state the obvious – we need Coal Fired power stations or it’s back to the caves.

So yeah, there is going to be a massive demand issue when the tide of electric cars roll into their garages of an evening and plug in. They don’t evenly distribute themselves either, they cluster in hot spots in a feeding frenzy the nightmare of electrical engineers the world over.

Mark Butler, a Labor spokesman, recently operated on a supreme level of naivety when he suggested that, ‘other countries around the world were dealing with the issues.’ Yes Mark, with their Nuclear power plants which we’re not allowed to build. He continued, ‘high take-up of rooftop solar panels will lower the impact’. Indeed Mark, when everyone plugs their cars in at night. However it is Mark’s final suggestion that gets the grand prize for sustained hilarity in which he floats the idea that the cars themselves could be used as backup batteries for the houses during blackouts.

Firstly – that’s not how electric car batteries are designed to discharge their energy… Secondly what? And how is a flat car going to be of use the next morning when people head out to their jobs? At this point Labor and their apologists are pulling lunacy right out of the air while the Press give them a free pass.

Labor are also acting under the impression that most people who own cars in Australia travel short distances or barely use them like our European cousins. This might be true of the Canberra circle or even the political class in Melbourne but for the Sydney workers who commute for an average of 2 hours every single day or the unwashed hordes living outside major cities who easily rack up 1000km a week, electric cars are not very appealing in their current capacity. If you’re facing an 8 hour return trip with produce the last thing you want to do is stand around waiting for your car to charge. The supercharging requirement for this sort of use falls well beyond the recommendations from ecar retailers for the health of the battery. You’re simply not meant to use these cars as dogged workhorses. That’s the entire reason why Australians buy higher emission cars in the first place – the work load.

We are not Europe. Our roads are terrible, everything is bloody miles away, we’ve no useful rail system and the quality of the power infrastructure is at the lowest threshold with eyewateringly long charges on an ever rising electricity price tag.

This discussion does not even begin to delve into the chemical limitation of battery technology. For two hundred years we’ve known that the process which allows us to re-charge a battery by reversing electron flow irrevocably destroys the battery. Changing materials and packing the cells more densely has slowed the damage and increased the voltage but the problem remains. As Climate Change zealots are yet to work out, not every technical puzzle has a solution no matter how much money you throw at it. Battery engineers have been working on this full time since the electrical revolution and the best recommendation of laptop and phone manufacturers was to reduce the charge load of the devices to be more gentle on the battery thus extending its life. You can do this with a phone but it doesn’t work with a car which requires a large amount of electricity to physically turn the wheels.

Superchargers make it worse. The faster you charge a battery, the quicker it degrades. Degradation means that the charge capacity lowers – about 8% in the first year with perfect use, 11% after two but much worse if you start religiously using superchargers. This means your range also drops 11%. All these wild claims about ecars being able to travel 400km is only true when they are brand new. You cannot expect that to be the same a year into your ownership. If that happened to petrol cars they’d be returned to the dealership.

These are material limitations similar in difficulty to breaking the speed of light. You just can’t get past the law.

There are so many pieces of vertebra out of place in this policy that all you can see for miles is deformed bone. While Bill Shorten remains resolute Australians are completely bewildered by the reality he is proposing.

At the end of the day the real demon is government interference. Technological achievements do not require our loving government to rob us blind and then stand there and beat the living shit out of us until we adopt their product.

Good technology is appealing.

Customers line up in the freezing cold for days to pay more money than they can afford. The reason markets the world over don’t buy electric cars on their own is because the product isn’t good value. If we’re ever going to produce an electric car that people desire manufacturers have to be left to compete with the better product currently available. When they succeed, the supporting industries will be mature enough to sustain a 50% target. Forcing it too soon will not only destroy Australia’s economy and sour consumers, it will stifle ecar development.

In every conceivable way, Shorten’s policy is a terrible idea.

When the greatest ancient mariners sailed off in search of the rumoured Southern Land they did so on a leap of faith. Ahead lay endless gaping water. Languid and mellow. The tides of exploration lulled around their hulls and dragged the ill-fated expeditions over the edge of the horizon until their grand empires were reduced to a glittering mirage.

These were not middling fools. The wide-eyed groups were cashed up, well stocked and experienced. More than that, they were driven by captains who believed in their bones that this mission was ordained by the rabble of gods. To be fair, they were all onto something. Across the uncharted oceans waited many prosperous realms dreamed of in their legends. The great Southern Land long rumoured in myth really did have open veins of gold.

To foreign princes the ages past, Australia was a floating mine of rare and precious plunder defended by the bizarre with an ecosystem trapped in an evolutionary pocket poorly understood by those first European eyes who were forced to re-learn survival.

Their problem was never ambition – it was timing.

Australia is a form of unsurpassed geological hostility. That is what she is to electric cars – logistically hostile and if European electric car manufacturers want to succeed then it is the product that must evolve, not the consumer.

And so we are left to watch Bill Shorten set his fleet into the water – not a skilled captain but a middling canoeist – where it will soon be cast adrift, meandering from one fatal shore to the next until it sinks beneath the waves and arrives on the ocean floor in bits.

–by ellymelly