Published in the Spectator Oz. Read it online here…
Published online in Caldron Pool. Read it here…
By ellymelly – If you enjoy my work, consider shouting me a coffee over on Ko-Fi
Miracles are manufactured. Dumb luck and a ‘she’ll be right’ mantra will not carry Australia through economic misadventure and China’s rise in the Pacific.
Contrary to legend, this nation was not born out of apathy. Our survival as a colony was a meticulously planned affair that endured on the sheer insistence of determined minds. These people, whose contribution to our story remains largely unwrit and long forgotten, saw us an orphan of the Commonwealth, stitched to the edge of a perilous world surrounded by inconsistent friends. To survive, Australia had to amass independent wealth before we were scuttled by greater powers.
Money and wealth differ subtly.
Money is a transitory bank balance, but wealth is a national asset that requires infrastructure and industry that cannot be easily taken. Its currency changes. Once counted in pounds of wool, it now lingers as a whisper in our mine shafts. These survivors are under attack by globalist movements who want us dependent on an entity that subverts the quagmire of United Nations treaties by pretending to be ‘Third World’. Benefactors who cheered limitless Chinese investment forgot that when we sold off our limbs, China purchased the right to hold us down. This is the ultimate act of foreign interference, which is why it is forbidden by sensible nations with a healthy scepticism of their neighbours.
Australia has no choice but to unpick these bindings.
If revolution is in the air, ours will be one of sleeping machines. We are a land of tombs. Our power stations rot as rubble corpses behind barbed wire. Empty factories linger in cities, coated in graffiti or transformed into studio apartments to house the ever-expanding population. In past eras, a surging labour force encouraged consumers which in turn, pushed prosperity. This equation only works if you are creating what you sell. These days, immigration is a form of spreadsheet witchery inside Treasury, masking hollow ground. We spend. China creates. The scales are tilted very slightly against us in such a way that it has taken decades to notice the gradual impoverishing of the individual.
There was no defining point when Australia agreed to a pilot-fish future with China. Our wealth was lost one trade deal at a time, sledge-hammered by governments and businessmen. This erosion of financial independence now looks like Collaroy beach after a storm with bits of rotted foundation exposed to the sea. Politicians can no longer deny that we have a structural problem or that more storms are coming. That said, we are not a doomed country destined to suffer at the behest of China’s inevitable dominance. We were always more of a Romeo than a Canute – freely choosing the seduction of easy money despite having other options.
Whether it was an admiration for their version of revolution, cultural discipline or surge to dominance, it’s not a good idea to remain infatuated with a dragon that is more likely to eat us than rear our interest as a pet. Its years of upheaval are far from over with the Communist Party of China’s struggle between despotism and privilege festering through a surveilled society that jealously watches our freedoms. The pandemic was a nightmare of its own making that threatens to undermine deeply secret politics and stir global vengeance headed by the United States that, quite rightly, intends to punish the regime. Xi Jinping’s guilt and Trump’s outrage will define Australia’s trading future.
We have no idea what the terms of this new world will look like, but Australia’s social fabric is less mysterious. Revolutions are primarily tools of the poor emerging to avenge injustice. This makes the conversation a little awkward for Australia, whose cage-approach to the pandemic has left an almighty mess of unemployment and ruination. Urgency demands that we change something about the economics of our civilisation, but how do we evolve and remain free? We are not the type of nation to rip apart our body and shed it in a horrifying metamorphosis like the French.
Remember that the evolution of human politics is imperfect. We often lack the tools required to create our utopia and so we survive through a process of over-correction, tossing ourselves from one violence to the next. What Australia needs is a revolution of thought but one without, as John McManners put it, ‘a great destruction, of a fatal – compulsive web of disasters, of an abyss between the old society and the new’.
We want manufacturing without serfdom and independence without war.
To do this, we must ignore the shouts of excited Marxists who have turned rabid at the scent of misfortune. Our problem isn’t with democracy or capitalism, nor is the answer a sacrifice of liberty. Today’s inequality is not an internal class struggle but rather one between nations. China’s factories inhabit a privileged tier, operating on an unattainable set of rules. Australia has no ability to influence this manufacturing supremacy because we refuse to treat our workers like slaves or cut corners into circles. Regardless, to regain self-sufficiency we have to find a way to play the game.
Price will always be a hard demon to exorcise but China’s reveal as an existential threat can be used to our advantage and encourage a rejection of borderless free trade ideology rampant in the previous century. There is no point being coy about what we intend to do. Politicians are wrong to think that their schemes disguise their plots. Better then to use our intent as a mechanism to drive the nation toward its goal. If we are to achieve any ground in this struggle, our leaders cannot lose sight of where we are and what we want. China enjoys the discipline of direction under dynastic-communism.
Vision is the strength of totalitarians but democracies must find consistency of thought within themselves; a harder but more stable force that, if engaged, can move the tide.
Survival is noise.
Success is activity.
It is time to revel in our natural assets and ignore guilt-wracked moral superiors who refuse to allow the achievements of today to rise above the perceived sins of those who lived and died before our country was born. In this, we are weighed down by ghosts, drowning in a featureless darkness that has no purpose other than to lift our competitors above us. If you want a better world, you have cut the chains and build it for yourself.
By ellymelly – If you enjoy my work, consider shouting me a coffee over on Ko-Fi
Why are smart people so bloody dumb?
We’ve all seen it – an intern fresh from the local Marxist manufacturing plant enters an unsuspecting office. This appearance is almost certainly a mistake. A fact immediately confirmed by a concerned manager who flips through their ‘handle with care’ CV and notices more fine print than a vegan meat substitute.
While the meaningless qualifications are taken away to be deciphered, the little darling is left to linger by the lift, staring blankly at the raw interior of Capitalism. It smells funny. It’s mostly beige. Some of the computers are running Windows98. Piles of paperwork threaten to crush employees who are multitasking with so many limbs HR has issued an infraction for breaking Union productivity guidelines. In the neon din, a shredder grates itself to death.
Panic clouds the university graduate’s eyes.
Anyone would think you’d flung open the abattoir gates, led them through rivers of blood and insisted they fill out an organ donation form when all you’re actually trying to do is get them up to speed with the office coffee order. You were going to introduce the revolutionary concept of ‘filing in alphabetical order’ but seeing as they’ve broken down into tears, logged onto the office wifi and started ranting on social media about how oppressive and unfair the patriarchy is, that’s looking like a bit of a stretch.
There’s a reason offices are full of insomniac mothers returning to work and twilight aged professionals part-timing their role between golf trips – they know what they’re doing and they don’t bawk at unexpected items in the baggage area. It’s equally unlikely that they’ll mount an ergonomic chair and shriek for help – primarily because modern offices struggle to afford upturned milk crates let alone those standing desk arrangements popular with employees who are surplus to requirement.
Normal people don’t sue management over a joke or profess the temperature of the aircon to be a crime against humanity. Chill has become a trade-able commodity in a market saturated by neurotics. To put it mildly, generation Woke are overpriced, fragile, entitled and tiresome. To put it savagely, they’re a pack of morons without a shred of common sense who you wouldn’t leave in charge of a stapler let alone the future of the country.
Naturally – the world’s smartest people and unquestioned experts on everything at the United Nations have decided to pin the fate of the planet to an Antifa teenager.
These are the same panels, committees, hangers-on and pseudo intellectuals who assure us that our climate is about to descend into destructive weather systems. Right oh, so why does the proposed solution involve lashing our energy security to cheap ‘made in China’ solar panels and climate-saving-bird-mincers easily destroyed by – uh – weather systems? Nah mate. We’ll take the ol’ robust Nuclear power plant you could fly a plane into. Kay. Thnx. Btw, who left all these submarine parts on the lawn?
If you venture into the CBD these days, you’ll have to step over a bit of performance art involving gluesticks and tarmac. Now, it’s well known among engineers that duct tape can fix pretty much anything but I’m reasonably certain an interpretive dance and several gallons of fake blood poured into the gutter while chanting at an incense stick isn’t going to have a net-positive effect on global climate. While they demand an end to their unbearable, oppressed lives on the deck of their parents’ yacht, hardcore Commies hand them placards demanding the next Communist Revolution. These are the same kids who snarl and shout down the people of Hong Kong who live in fear of their lives under the shadow of real tyranny.
I wish that was peak entitlement but we’re not even at base camp.
As they say, Capitalism isn’t perfect but find me a hipster fleeing to the nearest Communist state to finally write a blog critical of the government… They want an end to everything. Capitalism. Sovereignty. Australia Day. Equality. Cheap energy. History. In truth, it is themselves that these people hate and all of this activist shrieking is nothing but commemorative theatre in honour of their own lazy existence. They achieve nothing and so demand everything. If you want a better world, go out – buy some bricks and make it. All these people offer is sticky rubble.
All you require to disprove assertion of an Ecosocialist is a calendar.
Considering panicky apocalypse dates are brought forward every hour, I’m sure by the time I publish this article, doomsday will be booked for next Tuesday. I’ve already invited Twitter over for a bit of a Pagan bash which a few Wokelings saw as a hatecrime. Whatevs. You can hold a counter-protest-die-in if you like.
Honestly, I’m waiting for someone to prank the Doomsday Clock crew – push that hand right past midnight. Maybe we should feel sorry for them. As someone rightly pointed out on Twitter, their budget must be tight considering they can only afford a quarter of a clock. It always amazes me that these organisations err on the side of apocalypse. You know, maybe humanity will surprise this lot of miserable pessimists and survive. The Doomsday Clock is the perfect parallel to the IPCC as they both trade off manufactured tension. Well, we’re fifteen seasons into this TV show and no one cares if it’s cancelled.
If you think this is petty behaviour on my part, you’d be right. Patience among normal people is wearing thin. Gone are the eloquent rebuffs and philosophical essay retorts – in are merciless bouts of mockery and a bit of good old fashioned sarcasm. If you cry wolf about the end of the world, expect ambivalence. If you cruise past in a private jet shouting at people for having a car – expect revolution.
Don’t get me wrong, if there really was an apocalypse on the horizon, I’d be worried.
Humans have a pretty good nose on them where danger is concerned. The truth is no one is worried. Not me. Not my dog. Not the office workers and certainly not the A-list celebrities who think that wearing the same tuxedo to two different parties on the same night is saving the planet.
Kids are in it for Instagram likes. Scientists are in it for the grant dollars. Politicians are in it for the votes. The United Nations is in it for absolute power. It’s a lovely little pyramid scheme that trades on a crude mixture of fear and personal reward that can only be toppled when independent nations elect politicians who tell them to impolitely fuck right off.
No wonder the United Nations and its noisy pet chihuahua Extinction Rebellion hate sovereignty. Choice has never been a favourite of Socialists. Any country afforded the ability to decide its own future rarely chooses subservience to a foreign bureaucracy.
Dr. Ottmar Endenhofer, IPCC co-chair of Working Group 3 let go a bit of a hint in November of 2013 when he said:
“We (UN-IPCC) redistribute de facto the world’s wealth by climate policy. One has to free oneself from the illusion that international climate policy is environmental policy. This has almost nothing to do with environmental policy any more…”
He is also one of the world’s leading experts on Climate Change policy. According to Wikipedia, he’s in possession of professorship of Economics of Climate Change at the Technical University of Berlin, director and chief economist of the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research and director of the Mercator Research Institute on Global Commons and Climate Change. Less well known is his position on the OECD Advisory Council ‘Growth, Investment and the Low-Carbon Transition’. He is also a member of the High-Level Commission on Carbon Prices.
Indeed, he is the epitome of someone with so many accolades after his name that you start to wonder if the acronyms can be arranged to spell ‘Bullshit Artist’.
Meanwhile, United Nations climate chief Christiana Figueres emerged from the swamp of self-congratulatory elitism, champagne and five-star hotels to announce that, ‘Democracy is a poor political system to fight Global Warming. Communist China,’ she went on to say, ‘was the best model.’
It doesn’t bother her that China is the largest emitter of apocalyptic greenhouse gas and the biggest polluter dumping heck knows what tonnage of plastic into the ocean. Nor was she interested in the 94 million people who were starved, slaughtered and butchered by Communism. No. No. No. Her attention was held by a quirk of totalitarianism. The bit that intrigued Figueres and the UN was that they could lobby China to push through their policy wish-list without the bother of ‘legislative hurdles’.
Thank bloody hell for ‘legislative hurdles’ otherwise we’d be living in caves huddled around a candle with this lot of self absorbed maniacs at the helm. Gosh I mean, imagine the bother of having to consult the people about their future? Who does that any more? Certainly not China.
Climate Change has become a stitch-up, a political knife stabbed into the backs of nations on the way out of the UN in the hope enough blood spills to make them woozy and easy to push into a cage disguised as a hospital.
You cannot reason with a Socialists. They have proven themselves prepared to doctor data, manufacture apocalypse and rape the West of its prosperity.
Their success rides on the political illiteracy of you.
It’s always all too easy to convince genuinely good people to care for their environment – and in essence, there is nothing wrong with that concept. What they have done is the favourite trick of every shonky car salesman since camels were the latest commodity – dress up a piece of shit, spruik it with wild fabrication and sell it for a fortune. Meanwhile you walk away with a wreck that crashes you straight into a wall.
Don’t. Buy. The. Shit. Car.