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Wednesday 29 April 2009

The Secret Streets

*



The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my
soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my
good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?

This ... government — what is it but a tradition, though a recent one, endeavoring to transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but each instant losing some of its integrity? It has not the vitality and force of a single living man; for a single man can bend it to his will. It is a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves. But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy that idea of government which they have. Governments show thus how successfully men can be imposed on, even impose on themselves, for their own advantage. It is excellent, we must all allow. Yet this government never of itself furthered any enterprise, but by the alacrity with which it got out of its way. It does not keep the country free. It does not settle the West. It does not educate. The character inherent in the ... people has done all that has been accomplished; and it would have done somewhat more, if the government had not sometimes got in its way. For government is an expedient by which men would fain succeed in letting one another alone; and, as has been said, when it is most expedient, the governed are most let alone by it.

Henry Thoreau



He wrote, movingly, profoundly, catching the multiple strings of the argument, a piece about trace memory, the struggle to survive in remote places, the voices that came down to him from the past. He was shattered and in awe of what was happening. The lyrical phrases pounded in one after the other. Then he pressed a button, went to publish, and asthe entire trace memory spiel disappeared; as if it, too, wanted to vanish into the ether, to show off the shallow nature of time, the way nothing would stick. Even that half hour he had spent writing it could never be retrieved. The words could never be rediscovered. Whatever was happening to him had a higher purpose; that he had always felt. Hence, of course, the great disappointment with the grinding present.

His life had been a preparation for something else. That was why it had all seemed so damned profound. Caught in sockets, flashed about in caves. That was why he could hear the ancestors; hear them in his blood and in his dreams. They were coming for him; but not yet, not yet. The human life span was so tiny and its concerns so insignificant it was natural to hope for more. Six billion stories and rising goes the tagline on SBS, a flickering screen in a derelict building, an alcoholic resident. He looked at the man, his friend of recent months, and thought: how did you get here? All the blokes warned him against Bridgette. He was shocked by the passing days. Shocked by the shallowness of his concerns, the predictability of his children, the queitness of the present; the roaming conversations.

Which is why he thought of red light districts; his habit of always seeking them out in strange cities; and of one of the most bizarre of them all, the red light district in Istanbul. First he had gone alone, then with his friend; finally an American sociologist asked if she could come along, but was blocked from entry by police at the gate. No women allowed. And then suddenly the path was cleared. They could enter. They passed through the gates, past the police, leaving the feminnist academic in their wake; he glanced back to see her still arguing with the security guard and smirked. There were still advantages to being male; entres into secret societies. And he looked once more on the strange scene before him. And smiled again.

There was a network of streets; each house a brothel. Outside each one a crowd of a hundred or more men had gathered. There was a liquid tension in the air, a certain smell, men on heat, a murmuring in the crowd. Every now and then a man would go forward and the crowd burst into applause. The women were of varying degrees of beauty. He had written this before. They were of varying degrees of beauty and varying prices. The crowds were thicker at the cheaper end. Down one alley, with the prices higher, the crowds thinned. He saw a slim, barely touched girl from the provinces and caught the look in her sad eyes. Your life not mine; and a spark of understanding passed between them. She was looking for a client. He was just another stranger in the crowd; but he was European, a tourist, would have more money, would treat her better. She smiled bravely; it was meant to be enticing.

But these liquid moments were rare; fancy going where so many had gone before. He returned to the more crowded sectors; his friend, sometime boyfriend, in tow. The cheaper women were fat, the rolls of their flesh billowing out of their garish outfits. He was shocked, decimated, by everything that had happened; love gone wrong, adventure gone wrong. These things were nothing to be frightened of. He couldn't be that bold. He couldn't lose everything all over again. He coldn't be that shattered again, ineffectual love, never enough money. He didn't want to be dependent on someone else; he wanted to make sure everything would work. He wanted to be certain everything was in place.

The crowd of muslim men pushed forward; as if getting closer to the forbidden could change their life; or at least relieve their tension. He knew how brief and unsatisfying the event they were paying for really was. In seconds it was over, after all the buildup. And strangers continued to bless him. Shapes continued to shift. Trace memories continued to haunt him. Momentarily diverted, nothing would ever be the same again. Not used to being told no, the woman academic had argued long past anything that was reasonable. They had bid their farewells, after arranging to meet at the same restaurant the following night; at the line of fish restaurants underneath the bridge. To see once again the Hagia Sophia; to be entranced by the oldest domed building in the world. And he glanced once more at the thrusting crowd; he could feel them, their urgency, the unlovely nature of men en masse. And he prayed for their souls to be released from the desperation of the flesh; as he sidestepped quickly into another realm, secrets in the winding alleys, beauty in despair.




THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/04/30/2556555.htm?section=justin

US President Barack Obama has called Prime Minister Kevin Rudd to express his thanks for the extra Australian troops being sent to Afghanistan.

Mr Obama says he personally thanked Mr Rudd for what he is describing as a substantial troop contribution.

The President says the 450 additional Australian soldiers will help enhance the training of Afghan security forces, support the approaching presidential election and bolster efforts to build and strengthen civilian institutions.

Mr Obama says greater commitments from countries like Australia are critical if Al Qaeda and the Taliban are to be defeated in Afghanistan.

But a leading defence expert says the decision to boost Australia's troop numbers is just a show of support for the US government.

Professor Hugh White told ABC 1's Lateline program that the increase is a symbolic gesture.

"I don't think it counts for much. I think the chances of this making any real difference to the situation there are low," he said.

"I think really it's best to look at it as a political strategy by the Prime Minister to address the very deep problem he has over supporting the US rather than a serious attempt to change the facts on the ground."




http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5juui7didNwh_vzBmJyrbjxkeF-IgD97SB1I80


ARNOLD, Mo. (AP) — Marking his symbolic 100th day in office, President Barack Obama told Midwesterners Wednesday: "I'm pleased with the progress we've made but I'm not satisfied." "I'm confident in the future but I'm not content with the present," the president told a town-hall style event in a St. Louis suburb.

Later, the president planned to head back to Washington to send that same message to the rest of the country at a prime time news conference.

Even as his administration sought to minimize the symbolism of the 100-day marker, the White House staged these two high-profile, high-visibility events to promote Obama's accomplishments while pressing his big-ticket agenda.

In office just three months, the Democrat enters the next phase of his new presidency with a high job approval rating and a certain amount of political capital from his history-making election last fall. But he also faces a thicket of challenges as he seeks to move ahead on multiple fronts both foreign and domestic amid recession and war. He will need continued public support to accomplish his lofty goals.

Thus, Obama used the anniversary — some aides derided it as a "Hallmark holiday" — to travel to Missouri to press his case.

"We have begun to pick ourselves up and dust ourselves off, and we've begun the work of remaking America," Obama proclaimed. But he acknowledged, "We've got a lot of work to do because on our first day in office, we found challenges of unprecedented size and scope."

He defended his ambitious, costly plan, saying: "These challenges could not be met with half measures. They couldn't be met with the same, old formulas. They couldn't be confronted in isolation. They demanded action that was bold and sustained."

And, Obama countered critics who said he's taking on too much, as he works to turn around the recession while revamping energy, education and health care in the United States.

"The changes that we've made are the changes we promised," Obama said. "We're doing what we said we'd do."



http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25406815-5013871,00.html

TWO boats carrying almost 80 suspected asylum seekers have been intercepted by Border Protection Command, bringing to 17 the number of vessels detected since August.

The interceptions occurred less than 24 hours after the mysterious discovery by Customs of four suspected asylum seekers on Deliverance Island, 30 nautical miles off the coast of Papua New Guinea.

As more of the injured from the fatal boat explosion of two weeks ago left hospital - for immigration detention - Afghanistan's ambassador to Australia backed the Rudd Government's argument that global instability was behind the surge in arrivals.

One of the boats stopped yesterday was carrying seven people and was intercepted one nautical mile north of Ashmore Reef.

Sources said the passengers, who included at least one child, appeared to be Indonesian. The second boat was carrying about 72 people and was stopped 27 nautical miles west of Bathurst Island, just north of Darwin.

Several women and three or four children were believed to be aboard.

The interceptions occurred hundreds of kilometres apart, suggesting the boats were not travelling together.

They came less than a day after four people, understood to be two Afghans, a Sri Lankan and an Indian, were detected by a surveillance flight by a Customs helicopter.

No boat was found with the men.

Yesterday, a government source speculated the find could be a new trend, with people-smugglers preferring to drop their cargo and go home rather than stay with their passengers and risk arrest and prosecution.

Afghanistan's ambassador, Amanullah Jayhoon, told The Australian yesterday a recent crackdown by Pakistani and Iranian authorities on Afghan refugees was a major factor behind the spike in boat arrivals.



Sunday 26 April 2009

The Struggle To Survive

*



Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm:
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's carnal ecstasy,

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost.
All the dreaded cards foretell.
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought.
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

W. H. Auden
Lullaby.



Well of course things were faulty, he had disengaged. But the ancient voices were still clear. He could hear the wolves howling outside his family's humble, wooden plank cottage. Its earthen floor. The fire that provided them with warmth, dinner, emotional comfort. Many bad things had already happened, but there was no other choice except acceptance. Their fate had been chosen. He was walking in the darkness through the forest. Home was near and comfort everywhere, but he wasn't yet home free. Grey shadows lurked just beyond his field of vision. Everything was gone. He had been so strong and handsome; he knew it casually, the way people reacted around him. He carried authority. One day he would be leader of the village, despite the complications.

But this night was a different night and before there was any future of grandchildren and rotting teeth he had to make it home. This was where he became frightened, as if pre-destined. The horrors were out here. He had misjudged the timing; only the last glimmers of the day were in the sky now and with a moonless night sky it was almost impossible to see the path. Sometimes he thought he could see the glow of the village fires through the trees, smell the burning wood. But with the coming of winter people had moved indoors; and perhaps they hadn't even bothered to light a fire outside tonight. Wood had been scarce; their extreme poverty crippling the older folk so they barely had the energy to find wood, deep in the darkness.

The forest, as far as he knew, had no end, although their stories spoke of places where animals roamed free on great open grass lands. It was something he had always longed to see, but with the coming of children his own youthful dreams disintegrated; all shadows and rocks and threads of causal moments. He tripped over a log on the path, but was comforted by the accident because he could remember this very same log from the morning going out. His backpack was heavy from the rabbits he had artfully caught. Their speed and their size had made the catch very difficulty; and they had been far away; further than his competitors had been prepared to go at this time of year. But he was overwhelmed with love; a determination to protect the new-born, to provide the best to his children's mother; so he had set off early and told no one of his destination.

They would be beginning to worry now. The pot empty. The children grizzling as they went to bed with nothing but porridge, again. He could smell the blood of the rabbits on his back, and moved even quicker. He thought he recognised the shapes of the trees, he thought he recognised bends in the path. What was unmistakable was the movement of the hungry dogs in the forest as they followed him. Sometimes he caught a gleam of their eyes, hungry, almost evil, certainly the biggest threat he now faced. Briefly he had thought of leaving his cargo behind, the catch of which only a few hours before he had been so excited and triumphant about. But he knew he was close; and at last the path beneath his feet began to broaden as they approached the village.

It was as he had predicted. The children had been crying; they didn't like it when he wasn't there to protect them. His beloved barely looked up, stirring a pot full of twigs and grass and the only vegetables she could find. He dumped the load right next to her; and then she she smiled and climbed up and shouted thanks to the spirits. Any thought of the children going to bed hungry was banished now. He watched as she skillfully skinned his catch and threw the unfortunate animal in the pot; virtually whole. He was glad to get his shoes off; to shut the door on the bitter cold of the forest; to say hello to the ragged elements of his little band, her aging parents, his already being dead, his clawing children, an ancient uncle from his side. Everything about their survival fell to him.

These historical memories were triggered by the sight of fire, by the beginning of a cold winter. All would be shadows. Something was afoot. The other houses in their tiny collective were also feeling the impacts of the famine. Their crops had almost all failed this summer; rain never came, the season was short. These threads were a long way from supermarkets and welfare cheques without connection to effort. He was clear at the time that nothing would make any difference, genes would be passed down through generations, cold would always trigger the desire for fire and comfort. The bright packaging, the muzak, the queues, the ugliness of the grasping crowds; all of this lay in a future he could never imagine; here in the smoke stained walls of his family hut; here in the darkness of a forest so dense no one had ever escaped, here where his family struggled daily to survive, but could imagine no other life.



THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/04/27/2553179.htm?section=australia

Federal politicians are to receive $4,700 a year more in electorate allowances, taking the total yearly subsidy to $32,000.

It amounts to about $90 a week, three times what aged pensioners are calling for in terms of an increase to their pension.

The allowance is designed to cover electorate expenses, but any money not used at the end of each year is treated as personal income.

The Remuneration Tribunal says the allowance has not been changed since 2000, and inflation means politicians are still worse off in real terms.

Superannuation Minister Nick Sherry has defended the increase, saying the money is used for valid electoral purposes.

"Well I don't keep the money because it's the electoral allowance, it doesn't go into my pay, it doesn't go into my pocket, it's for expenditure in the electorate," Senator Sherry said.

"Typically I would spend it - and I spend all of mine - on things like like donations to sporting and community organisations, raffles, donations to individuals - they're the sorts of expenditures.

"That is what it's for, it's not pay as such."

http://www.smh.com.au/national/bikies-unite-to-fight-new-gang-laws-20090426-ajd9.html

A LEGAL challenge to new anti-gang legislation will be one of the first moves a new bikie club council will make.

In an unprecedented move, the largest outlaw motorcycle club in Australia, the Rebels, opened the gates of its Leppington national clubhouse to the media yesterday to show a publicly united front to the organised crime bill recently enacted by the State Government.

Members of all the main clubs in NSW except the Nomads arrived at the Bringelly Road clubhouse to shake hands and - publicly at least - present a peaceful and united front.

After watching a procession of bikies enter the fortified club house, the media were ushered inside by large, tattooed men wearing Rebels regalia.

Inside the large cement hall, with a boxing ring in one corner and a long bar against one wall, about 20 men in full club colours stood drinking and talking quietly.

Despite originally saying "interviews" would be available, the Rebels national president, Alessio "Alex" Vella, told the media there would be no questions and no comment except by barrister and long-time Rebels lawyer, Geoffrey Nicholson, QC, and a senior God Squad member who called himself "Fish".

"We're here to unite as one voice, to reassure the public that there's no ongoing disputes between the clubs," Fish said. "The council will be meeting for consultation and discussions on a regular basis. The clubs are united."

Some clubs were on "runs" so could not attend, he said.

Mr Nicholson then addressed the media, attacking the Criminal Organisations Control Act passed this month.

"It's important to remember that all that activity has been carried out under existing laws, not under these new laws."

The new laws were directed not only at the outlaw clubs, but at "any organisations or club in the community" and would limit freedom of speech and the freedom to associate, he said.

Basic civil liberties had been forsaken by the Government in order to target the clubs, Mr Nicholson said.

"Today a bike group, tomorrow perhaps a trade union, a dissident group. There is no restriction in that legislation," he said.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25390427-5013404,00.html

THERE were some signals of hope from the world's finance ministers in Washington but Wayne Swan appeared keen to talk it down yesterday, leaving open the possibility that the world might yet sink into another Great Depression.
A communique from finance ministers of the largest seven countries in the world said there were signs of stabilisation in the G7 economies and that "activity should begin to recover later this year amid a continued weak outlook".

But the Treasurer said the consensus in Washington was that the forecast remained "bleak".

As the Rudd Government plays the tricky task of managing expectations for its budget next month, maintain political support for its spending plans and blame any economic ills on events overseas, talk of the global contraction ending before a recession has even officially begun in Australia presents a challenge for Labor.

Asked in an interview on the sidelines of the International Monetary Fund's spring meetings if there were encouraging signs in the global economy, Mr Swan said: "I don't think anyone is saying that. There are glimmers of hope and some signs of stabilisation, or at least of the contraction decelerating, that's all.

"If anything, the view here is that (the contraction) is likely to be deep and reasonably long and why we need to redouble our efforts taken in London (at the G20 meeting earlier this month).

"Yes, there is a sense at this stage the financial system is better than it looked for a while but nobody is claiming anything more than that." US Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner acknowledged on the weekend that it would be "wrong to conclude that we are close to emerging from the darkness that descended on the global economy early last fall".







Penrith Train Station at sunset; I was out there covering an inquest and there's been a crackdown on cabcharges; hence the train station.

Saturday 25 April 2009

The Cold Morning Sun

*




Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons, destined
to be shit out through wholesome
American guts.


Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Thanks for the KKK.

For nigger-killin' lawmen,
feelin' their notches.

For decent church-goin' women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.

Thanks for "Kill a Queer for
Christ" stickers.

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.

Thanks for a country where
nobody's allowed to mind the
own business.

Thanks for a nation of finks.

Yes, thanks for all the
memories-- all right let's see
your arms!

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams.

William Burroughs, Thanksgiving Prayer.




There was a spiralling wrath, a way forward, next, next, come into my parlour. They were marching forwards. There were threats on every side. But there was also hope. They were challenged in their fundamental beliefs. They crucified the darkness and welcomed the light. They were shadows flickering past in a crowded life. He could barely remeber the personalities who had played out so many years ago, why he had thought them so iimportant. Now, in the midst of a crack down, with police squads and their dogs roaming the street, with the Public Order vans parked prominently like a tinge of South America, Mexico, Argentina, places where crowds were bashed into submission and riots were not permitted.

The streets were dull, he couldn't deny that. The population was discontent. But more than anything he wanted to complete his mission; and now was confused by the sheer dreariness of the day after day routine. What happened to lurching from crisis to crisis? What happened to never growing old? I tell you life's different when you hit your eighties, a man said in the doctor's surgery. He looked up, happy enough to talk, to engage with anyone really in this day full of lonely holes and steady routines; voices which barely made it past the edidermus. And then he was proud, gathered, touched, they shared, as he had always shared, vulnerabilities rather than strengths, strange decays of thought and routine, collapsing lives.

But in fact things had never been so stable. This was the problem, perhaps. The kids were older and didn't need him so much. Suzy rang from Moree and sugested a visit, but they laughed, as if there couldn't be anything worse, anything duller than the Australian contry side and the troubled, dying towns which characterised the place. Heat, dust, the sides of roads. Flat countryside that stretched as far as anyone could see. And the urban shadows, the crowded ghosts which kept crowding in around him, as if a thousand people had died in these old houses, as if all their voices were coming back, their souls had not left. The land out there was full of ghosts of a different kind, ghosts the kids were immune to, would never believe.

But the ancient terraces they lived in in Redfern were equally riddled with ghosts; unhappier ones. Some just old, having lost the good fight and gone to the cemetery. And others who just lurked, virtually in the chimneys sometimes, looking on at a world they couldn't understand either. Everything had changed so fast. The ancient spirits which had survived the concrete were hard to access; reluctant to appear, almost dead. Their faint thoughts only came in moments of extreme clairvoyance. This wasn't going to be fun anymore. No wonder the old retirement age was 55. Where was the fun now, what was there to do? Would he just keep marching on until the tap on the shoulder.

Well all was not well. There was a sickness out there. In the present time in the present realm. A sickness of man's own making; and not the polluting mytho-poetic global warming ideologies which gave credibility to the most lunatic of the old hippy's drop out instincts. But they, too, grew old and everything they ever believed was swept away in the corroding dust. And so he smiled; his shattered, broken teeth, his aging face, his crumbling will to create. The antibiotics had worn him to a thin shred. Another day be brave; he said; and the bishop swang holy water at him and the first rays of sunshine hit the cold streets; an alley cat watched as he passed and soon enough the streets were once again full of strangers passing each other, bubbles of thought uncompromised. And he realised: he wasn't ready to die, yet. He didn't want to die at all. And the long dreams that threaded out into the future; that future which had rushed up so rapidly it was like being gusted in the wind from one decade to the other; he shivered in that first cold sun and headed straight for a morning coffee.





THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/04/26/2552728.htm?section=justin

The Federal Government says it will take up to four days for a Navy ship carrying a group of asylum seekers to reach Christmas Island.

The boat carrying 54 passengers and two crew was intercepted by HMAS Albany yesterday in international waters about 900 kilometres from Darwin, south-west of Ashmore Island.

The Navy found the boat after workers onboard an oil rig tender vessel saw it and contacted Customs.

The group boarded HMAS Albany voluntarily.

The Federal Government has not released details about their nationalities.

Meanwhile, 32 Sri Lankan men are being processed by authorities on Christmas Island after arriving there yesterday.

They had been on a boat which was intercepted near Barrow Island off the Western Australia coast on Wednesday.

http://www.theage.com.au/national/heavy-clashes-in-afghanistan-20090425-aitp.html

THE Department of Defence says Australian troops have inflicted heavy casualties on the Taliban in a series of operations in southern Afghanistan over the past month.

The Australian Defence Force released broad details of the fighting yesterday, five weeks after the operations began. The ADF statement included belated official confirmation that Australian special forces are fighting outside Oruzgan province, their normal area of operations.

Taliban forces were routed by special forces in fighting in Helmand province, while Australian troops supporting Afghan soldiers inflicted "numerous insurgent casualties" in Oruzgan, the statement said.

Release of the statement coincided with an Anzac Day visit to Afghanistan by Defence Minister Joel Fitzgibbon. He was accompanied by Keith Payne, 75, who was awarded a Victoria Cross in the Vietnam War.

The ADF said special forces had been involved in "major combat operations" in Helmand since March. They operated inside a Taliban stronghold for 26 days, and were involved in 11 major fights. On April 1, they faced determined resistance in a day of "heavy and sustained" fighting, but in the end the Taliban were "seriously routed".

One Australian serving with the special forces, Sergeant Brett Till, was killed on March 19.

Elsewhere, Australian mentoring and reconstruction troops were involved in intense fighting in Oruzgan province. The statement did not say when the clash occurred, but said it happened 12 kilometres north of the main Australian base at Tarin Kowt.

The Australians called in support from Dutch and US aircraft during the fight against almost 40 insurgents.

http://uk.reuters.com/article/burningIssues/idUKTRE53O23A20090425

BAGHDAD (Reuters) - U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton Saturday urged Iraqis to overcome their divisions as a spate of suicide bombings revived fears of a renewed sectarian war when U.S. troops withdraw.

Making a brief visit to Baghdad, her first since becoming secretary of state, Clinton sought to reassure Iraqis of U.S. support as Washington prepares to withdraw all its troops by the end of 2011.

The top U.S. diplomat arrived on a military transport plane a day after two female suicide bombers blew themselves up outside a Shi'ite Muslim shrine in Baghdad, killing 60 people in the deadliest single incident in Iraq in more than 10 months.

It was the third major attack in two days, bringing the death toll since Thursday to at least 150 people.

The attacks have fanned fears of a resurgence in violence as the United States prepares to pull its combat troops out of Iraqi cities by the end of June, to end all combat missions in August 2010 and to bring all forces home by the end of 2011.

At a meeting Clinton held with about 150 Iraqis at the U.S. embassy, an Iraqi journalist bluntly said many Iraqis were afraid of what would happen when U.S. troops left, and that people did not trust Iraqi security forces.

"There is nothing more important than to have a united Iraq," Clinton replied. "The more united Iraq is, the more you will trust the security services. The security services have to earn your trust but the people have to demand it."



Monday 20 April 2009

The Sour City

*



I can travel
faster than light
so can you
the speed of thought
the only trouble
is at destinations
our thought balloons
are coated invisible
no one there sees us
and we can’t get out
to be real or present
phone and videophone
are almost worse
we don’t see a journey
but stay in our space
just talking and joking
with those we reach
but can never touch
the nothing that can hurt us
how lovely and terrible
and lonely is this

Les Murray



His career was a shocking request for action, for love, to restore old memories, embrace young faces, to regret and move forward. He wasn't ashamed, just bewildered. The mark of the devil had been upon him. All was not lost, but he was shattered by the changes that had occurred, not just in his own physical form but in the way people related to him, for the activity that was being discouraged, for the shattered flints that made up each waking moment. The traffic jam was 20 miles long, he swore. Thankfully they were heading the other way, in a taxi coming back from an inquest. He was talking animatedly to a very beautiful woman who, to make her more exotic, had grown up in Hong Kong of hippy parents. The shadows were fleeting, now that they were moving at 110 ks an hour, the legal limit.

And on the other side they weren't moving at all. They had the same conversation he had been having for days. Something has gone wrong. With this city. With the fabric of things. This sour city. If he mentioned it, people immediately knew what he was talking about. What is it? They would ask. It's just too difficult to live here anymore; we're grossly over-regulated and making a living in this place is becoming more and more impossible. There were shadows everywhere; fleeting in the trees, running away from them as they sped past. Imagine being stuck in that, he said to her? pointing to the traffic queue which stretched as far as they could see, literally. They had already passed the accident; there were ambulances and police and crushed cars, but he didn't see any bodies.

Astonishingly, as they continued to soar down the highway at 110ks an hour, the queue on the other side remained locked. All the way from the outskirts to the city's core. It would take any of them hours to get home. They had all paid their toll for the honour of sitting in the queue. Shadows were everywhere, glancing in the air. Cold, cold, he felt like reaching out and touching her, until she mentioned her partner and the conversation veered off into raising children and mad exes, vindictive women and appalling behaviour. It was all correct. The driver remained immune. Minute after minute passed, and still the line of traffic on the other side of the highway did not move. He shuddered but there was nowhere to go with it. Peace was not an option.

He felt like reaching out and touching her and felt like a thousand things could crush him. He was shocked by the rate of the spread of the disease. Someone had warned him, long ago. How very beautiful she was, suddenly, in the back of that taxi, the mind blowing traffic jam on the other side of the highway still stretching into infinity. The inquest into the death of the boy in the Blue Mountains, the apparent staggering indifference of the 000 operators to the repeatedly desperate calls of the severely dehydrated David Iredale, the emotion of it was so gripping, so draining, the parents sitting in the court room, the mother quietly weeping as the horrific details of multiple incompetencies continued to pour out. We were always going to be there. We were always going to be witnesses to this tragedy.

Their conversation spread rapidly across multiple topics, the inquest, of course, work, of course, other journalists, their copy, their determination, their quirks, as we struggled with the logistics of our own tight deadlines. Hers were looser than his, and she was happy to engage. They talked about her partner's two year old boy, who he had majority of custody of. The multiple sick tactics from multiple angles. They talked about life in Hong Kong; cities which were coming to a standstill because of traffic like that beside them, of the increasing impossibility of living in this sour city. How cut throat, how angry it had become. She told me the story of the people in her Camperdown Streets after she got out of the cab the previous evening; angry, violent, out of it. The city was crumbling, that was how everyone felt. There was no end to it.

There were people all around him descending into the quagmire, yet every day brought brighter lights. On the corner each evening in recent days a fight breaking out on the corner, the aboriginal women screaming. First thing in the morning as he walks out the door he sees this scene unfold: a white man is being bundled into the back of a police van. Nearby an aboriginal woman is screaming at the police. She is joined by two of her friends, who are shouting both at the police and each other. Groups of ten or more police had combed the suburb the previous evening with sniffer dogs. Their secret places were all busted. He sipped lemon squash in the beer garden of the local hotel and listened to outrageous stories. The pain of his infected tooth kept returning, making him irritable, even confused, exhausted by the antibiotics. But in moments in the back of taxis, with someone beautiful and intelligent and highly entertaining, every shadow vanished and in his destiny lay happiness. At the end of the journey, when the 20 mile long traffic queue merged with the city gridlock, they shared cigarettes in embarrassment that they hadn't quite given up altogether yet, neither of them should have smoked; and the twirls of stories they had been telling each other vanished into the asphalt and the night ahead, the story ahead.




THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/04/25/2552504.htm?section=justin

Tens of thousands of people have lined the streets of Australian towns and cities to cheer on veterans and their families taking part in this year's Anzac Day march.

Umbrellas decorated the parade ground at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra as war veterans and current servicemen and women marched past the Stone of Remembrance.

Governor-General Quentin Bryce delivered the commemorative address, saying the day was about coming together to pay respects and give thanks.

"We come to pay our respects and give our thanks to reflect deeply on what their offering means," she said.

Ms Bryce then joined Prime Minister Kevin Rudd and other dignitaries in the laying of wreaths.

The RSL says more than 20,000 veterans turned out for today's march in Sydney.

While the ranks of some units are thin, they say the descendants of some veterans are marching at the back of the group.

Many of the World War Two veterans, now in their 80s and 90s, are unable to walk, but are travelling in taxis and jeeps along the route of the march.

One of them, 84-year-old Stilton Woodhouse, says it is a day to remember those who never came home from war.

"It's not an occasion of celebrating war but of thinking of those that we lost during the bad times, when things were really bad," he said.

At the end of the march a commemoration service will be held at the Anzac Memorial in Hyde Park.

Thousands also lined the streets of central Melbourne to watch the march through the city.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/24/world/asia/24pstan.html?bl&ex=1240804800&en=00c6c1fd04ee13be&ei=5087%0A

ISLAMABAD, Pakistan — As the Taliban tightened their hold over newly won territory, Pakistani politicians and American officials on Thursday sharply questioned the government’s willingness to deal with the insurgents and the Pakistani military’s decision to remain on the sidelines.

In Pakistan’s Buner district on Thursday, a barber looked at the “Shave is forbidden” warning that the Taliban wrote on the window of his shop. The Taliban now control the region.
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Some 400 to 500 insurgents consolidated control of their new prize, a strategic district called Buner, just 70 miles from the capital, Islamabad, setting up checkpoints and negotiating a truce similar to the one that allowed the Taliban to impose Islamic law in the neighboring Swat Valley.

As they did, Taliban contingents were seen Thursday in at least two other districts and areas still closer to the capital, according to Pakistani government officials and residents.

Yet Pakistani authorities deployed just several hundred poorly paid and equipped constabulary forces to Buner, who were repelled in a clash with the insurgents, leaving one police officer dead.

The limited response set off fresh scrutiny of Pakistan’s military, a force with 500,000 soldiers and a similar number of reservists. The army receives $1 billion in American military aid each year but has repeatedly declined to confront the Taliban-led insurgency, even as it has bled out of Pakistan’s self-governed tribal areas into Pakistan proper in recent months.

The military remains fixated on training and deploying its soldiers to fight the country’s archenemy, India. It remains ill equipped for counterinsurgency, analysts say, and top officers are deeply reluctant to be pressed into action against insurgents who enjoy family, ethnic and religious ties with many Pakistanis.

In the limited engagements in which regular army troops have fought the Taliban in the tribal areas and sections of the Swat Valley, they not only failed to dislodge the Taliban, but also convinced many Pakistanis that their own military was as much of a menace as the Islamic radicals it sought to repel, residents and analysts say.

http://www.independentweekly.com.au/news/local/news/general/ian-plimer-a-question-of-faith/1495699.aspx

History is littered with grand mistakes. Columbus thought the West Indies looked distinctly oriental, Hitler and Napoleon believed the Russian winter would defrost like a fridge held open, and IBM chairman Tom Watson was convinced there’d be a world market for about five computers.

Then there’s the question of faith: that is, the belief in gods and deities. The world once had thousands of religions, and to challenge these beliefs meant death. Ancient Greeks built temples which started at Aphrodite and ended at Zeus, animists believed that plants had souls, and ancient hunter-gatherers held that rivers and mountains were created by giant crocodiles or snakes.

A giant cod did not dig the River Murray, and we know that because of the work of geologists and geographers. Since the beginnings of religion 300,000 years ago, science has challenged faith. Science is evidence, not belief, and scientists don’t burn other scientists at the stake because they disagree with each other. But the belief in human-caused global warming, says one scientist, has become the new religion.

“The history of the world is written in the rocks,” says Adelaide University geologist Professor Ian Plimer. “We can tell when the earth was born, when the atmosphere developed and the gases which comprised it. We know that continents drift and mountains uplift and erode. If you know the alphabet, if you can read the rocks, you can go back 4.567 billion years to the formation of the world itself.”

Plimer is a genial man, 62 years old and with the energy of a new-born gazelle. He’s rushing from television interviews to appointments on radio. He’s been to his printers and publishers and he’s in Adelaide between trips to Broken Hill and Wagga Wagga. It’s a busy schedule.

In the boot of his Mercedes he has a box of books, his new opus Heaven and Earth. He parks the car on a steep hill in Beaumont, hands a copy of the book to his passenger while he meets his wife Jill and a real estate agent. As he inspects the house for sale, the real estate agent’s parked car rolls down the hill and stops with a crunching noise at the first solid obstacle, which the rear of Jill’s car. The professor is unfazed.

“There’s space in that house for a library,” he says gleefully. “I’ve got 75 linear metres of books and Jill has the same. We need a house with space. The cars should have been parked with their wheels turned into the gutter on a slope like that but - there’s space for a library.”

And then the professor moves heaven and earth, literally and figuratively. The book, 500 pages of literature, is an argument against the belief or the faith, as Plimer sees it, that human activity causes global warming. A posse of critics from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, environmental groups and scientists from other disciplines are now out to lynch him. The mild-mannered professor’s Heaven and Earth is figuratively tearing his world apart.

“Start with science,” Plimer says. “Ignore faith. Science is evidence, not belief.” And then he starts with his history of the planet, beginning at the beginning and ending far into the future.

“The world’s climate has always changed and always will,” he says. “The speed and amount of modern climate change is neither unprecedented nor dangerous. The temperature range observed in the 20th century is in the range of normal variability.”

This sounds heretical. Don’t the world’s eminent scientists agree that humans are burning fossil fuels at an unprecedented rate, that this combustion is releasing carbon dioxide at a similarly unprecedented rate, and that carbon dioxide is a greenhouse gas? Won’t human-made global warming cause wild and unpredictable weather, melt polar icecaps and fry polar bears? Aren’t Pacific Islanders going to be flooded out of house and home? Won’t there be malarial mosquitoes up and down the high latitudes? Aren’t we doomed?

Plimer weaves the Mercedes through the traffic on the way to his next appointment. “Methane is the most potent greenhouse gas,” he says before answering. “The effect of driving a diesel car 10,000 kilometres is equivalent to the amount of methane a cow produces in a day.”

Yes, but what about polar bears? They don’t drive and they don’t chew cud.

Plimer stares through the windscreen, wondering where to begin. A starting point may be his previous book, A Short History of Planet Earth, published by ABC Books before the climate change debate really heated up. It talks about earth’s encounters with the killer asteroids, the rise and spread of the continents, the appearance of life, mass extinctions and really major climate changes that shaped the life and look of earth.

It even makes a passing reference to some minor animals known as hominids.

“For 80 per cent of the earth’s 4600 million years, our planet has been a warm, wet greenhouse planet. Greenhouse conditions are normal. Polar ice caps are abnormal,” he says.

“Even 2000 years ago the earth was considerably warmer than now. The Romans were scantily clad, and growing oranges and grapes in northern England.”

In Plimer’s geological timeframe, 2000 years is less than a modern meteorologist’s mini-second. Plimer sees the climate change much as we see changes in daily weather; it can be freezing in the morning, warming up towards noon with an afternoon thunderstorm, then rain and hail followed by a starry night with another frost.

To a man whose scientific discipline measures millions of years, the world’s climate is always changeable and variable. The reason we don’t notice is our incredibly short lifespan as a species and our incredibly short lives as individuals. If we’d been around as long as algal mats called stromatolites, like those at Shark Bay in West Australia which haven’t changed in 2724 million years, we’d have a truer perspective.

“The Dark Ages between 535 and 900 AD were a terrible time to be alive,” he writes in Heaven and Earth. “Sudden cooling took place. It was cold, there were famines, war, changes of empires and stressed humans succumbed to plague. Around 540 AD it was so cold trees almost stopped growing. This was a global event because it is also recorded in tree rings from Ireland, England, Siberia and North and South America.”

The Black Sea froze. Ice formed on the Nile. South America was gripped by drought; the Mayan civilisation collapsed.

The Dark Ages ended as quickly as they began and the world began to warm. This was the Medieval Warming from 900 to 1300 AD.

“The amount of land devoted to agriculture increased and fields crept up to higher altitudes where farming had not previously taken place. Europe was warm and rainfall was higher. New cities were built and the population increased from 30 million to 80 million. At the same time the thousands of temples at Angkor Wat in SE Asia were built. In China these warmer conditions led to a doubling of the population in 100 years. The Medieval Warming was the zenith of Muslim imperialism, culture and science. Economies boomed.”

And then came the Little Ice Age, and it all went wrong again. As Plimer tells it, the world warms and cools as quickly as a steaming hot bath goes tepid. He writes of giant undersea volcanoes spitting out more carbon dioxide than people have released since the start of the industrial revolution, of terrestrial volcanoes like the Toba eruption on Sumatra a mere 74,000 years ago which threw so much acid aerosols and dust into the atmosphere that the human population was reduced to as few as 4000 individuals. We were nearly wiped out, just like 99.99 per cent of all the world’s species have since life began. Becoming extinct is something most plants and animals do, and which the rest are still practising.

Unlike the ancient Greeks or the Stone Age hunters, Plimer doesn’t believe that gods or beasts created the earth or its life. Nevertheless there’s something of a missionary zeal about the man; he’d love to convert the listener. He talks of glaciers reaching down to the shores of the Mediterranean, of their retreat and the spread of hominids to the very north, of Viking settlements on a lush and pleasant Greenland. All these changes, hot and cold, happened well before Man started his lawn mower, before the internal combustion engine, before the Industrial Revolution or Emissions Trading.

So why is his voice seemingly the only one to argue that humans aren’t responsible for global warming? How can he be right and all the other scientists wrong?

If Plimer is irritated by the question he doesn’t show it. In fact, a smile spreads across his worldly face.

“Now that’s very interesting,” he says. “The media went into years of brouhaha about global warming and fellow travellers boarded the bandwagon at every opportunity. The cause became fashionable especially among climate experts such as Robert Redford, Barbra Streisand, Meryl Streep and numerous other show business folk. Al Gore went from strength to strength and even compared ‘true believers’ such as himself to Galileo. Those who had other scientific views were attacked.

“The international panel on climate change gathered many climatologists, meteorologists, environmentalists and political activists. Its first report was in 1990. Three working groups had authors who contributed to a series of chapters under the guidance of lead authors. These people are touted as the 2500 scientific experts who constitute a consensus. In the 1996 report on the impact of global warming on health, one contributing author was an expert on the effectiveness of motorcycle helmets. That author had also written on the health effects of mobile phones. Other authors were environmental activists, one of whom had written on the health effects of mercury poisoning from land mines. If a land mine explodes, the last thing one thinks about is the health effects of mercury poisoning.

“The IPCC process is related to environmental activism, politics and opportunism. It is unrelated to science.”

There is much in Plimer’s book which could make the blood boil, if not the oceans evaporate. According to the geologist, deniers of human-caused global warming have become the new sceptics, the distrusted, the heretical.

IN THE EARLY 1980s, a team of palaeontologists and archaeologists was excavating a cave on the banks of the Franklin River in Tasmania. They found there evidence of Stone Age man dating back 22,000 years, the most southerly people on the planet at that time.

“Tasmania then was much colder and drier,” explained ANU archaeologist Dr Rhys Jones during the dig. “People had walked across a flat plain from what’s now Victoria to what is now Tasmania. They arrived in the (Tasmanian) south-west and sheltered in this cave, using it for more than 7000 years.

“Then the climate became much wetter and warmer. The grasslands on which the people depended gave way to thick, impenetrable forest. The forest squeezed out the people, and they were forced to leave.

“The scale of that warming was very quick, and the flooding of Bass Strait incredibly rapid. It would have been possible for a grandfather to sit on the shore of Tasmania, point across the vast sea that’s now Bass Strait, and say to his grandson: ‘I walked across there.’ It flooded in a generation.”

Now that’s climate change. Archaeologists have found the remains of villages on the bed of what’s now the Black Sea before it was either black or sea. There are rock paintings of people herding cattle in what’s now the Sahara Desert. Just a few hours north-east of Adelaide is the Mungo Lakes national park, where there’s evidence of some of the earliest hominid occupation on Australia around what was once a huge inland sea. There was a time when Lake Eyre and Lake Torrens were fresh, when the Murray River flowed out to sea near Port Pirie. And if you really want to imagine climate change, think of the Himalayas as a boring flat plain or of South America smacking into North America and stopping equatorial currents between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.

The story of climate change is the story of the earth itself, of life beginning and often ending, of asteroids and comets smacking into planets and wiping out up to 96 per cent of all marine genera. Were it not for climate change, we might still be shrews scurrying in the night to hide from carnivorous reptiles. Climate change, argues Plimer, is driven by the sun, by eccentricities in the earth’s orbit and rotation, by geological and astronomical forces so strong that humans’ influence is relatively puny.

But Plimer’s latest book, its kindest critic will acknowledge, stays away from sweeping adventures in geology. Desperate to avoid generalities, eager to explain every scientific nuance, it’s packed with 2311 footnotes, almost all of them scientific. Al Gore’s film is Muzak compared with Plimer’s symphony.

“Most scientists are anarchistic, bow to no authority and construct conclusions based on evidence,” he writes. “Matters of science cannot be solved by authority or consensus. Scientific evidence is unrelated to politics, ideology, popular paradigms, world views, fads, ethic, morality, religion and culture. If you are a Buddhist, Baha’i or Baptist, the speed of light is still about 299,792.5 kilometres per second. If it is dark, the speed of light is still about 299,792.5 kilometres per second.”

And that’s about the speed that human-caused climate change believers will respond to Professor Plimer’s tract. Few arguments ignite the passions as much as this. Religion comes close, and that too is a belief system where adherents of one faith are so convinced of their own god’s supremacy that they will go to war to win converts, is the most grievous mistake to litter history.

Just above Plimer’s own basement office at the University of Adelaide is more salubrious accommodation of Barry Brook, who sits in the Sir Hubert Wilkins Chair of Climate Change. They argue, they disagree, and they are equally stimulated by the other’s debate.

After all, we now know that the world’s circumference is three times the size Columbus thought it was, and that a northern summer will be followed by a Russian winter.

And we know IBM’s Tom Watson was wrong. Five computers will never be enough, even just to do climate modelling.



Historic; function with the Australian cricket team and former Prime Minister John Howard at the Sydney Town Hall. Taken from the balcony.

Wednesday 15 April 2009

Cling To Your Average Day

*



Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come, Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

W.H. Auden



The entire civilisation was collapsing. He kept getting up and going to the office, but he had no faith anymore; no faith that his taxes were being spent correctly, no faith that the government knew what it was doing, no faith that they were destined for anywhere but hell. He passed, as he did each working day, the group of aboriginal men clowning around at the top of the Block, ready to begin the days routine of dealing and stealing. They watched the office workers rushing to work either with complete indifference or as if they were prey, searching for vulnerabilities in the herd. None of them worked, or had ever worked. They had no intention of going to work for "whitie"; and regularly called the passers by "white c...s". It happened every day and the locals accepted it as normal.

But there was nothing normal in the complete societal decay he was seeing all around him. Not only were thousands and thousands joining the dole queues every day, but the entrenched welfare culture sponsored by the left and maintained by the right, too cowardly to confront the disaster staring them in the face. They complained bitterly that the dole was not enough to live on, that the housing department wouldn't fix their back door or upgrade them to a better house. But the connection between life and work had been entirely cut. And they were smarter now, briefed by the social workers, and did not pour out their hearts to any stray journalist about the inter-generational unemployment which had left them so directionless and without hope, so addicted to alcohol, so dependent on Horizon cigarettes.

She greeted me at the door at 9am with a middle glass of wine in one hand and a ciggie in the other. The place smelt of dog shit ground into the carpet. He tried to take a breath of fresh air before stepping inside and failed. It was too much, too derelict, even for him and his love of inspired insanity, and he fixed her back door within about 20 minutes, dashing out to his truck for extra tools and trying to get the job done before he threw up from the smell. They were surrounded by sycophants. And the ones that did work, the lawyers, the bureaucrats, the politicians and their thousands of hangers on, all sneered at the capitalists out there generating wealth. Gated communities had come to Australia. Wealth was unfashionable but universally desired. Global warming was yesterday's fad. He knew there were worse things, cancerous things, eating away at this place.

She was declared insane but the hospitals were full, or closed. The Richmond report 30 years ago had emptied the mental health wards, creating rosy pictures of people with disabilities living happily together in group homes, surrounded by a caring community. It was all crap of the very first order; and had left the streets chaotic with people who never washed. Some days they were all talking to him. Even this morning a man had shouted, and he had looked up, thinking he was talking to him, only to realise he was shouting at no one, that nothing would change, that the parasites who fed off the reeking carcass had won the day. There was nothing left. The only thing to do was to isolate, to build the mote, to ensure his own survival.

Life was so short and he wished he could start again. That was the problem, there was no training run. He shuddered with the impact of all he had done to himself, and wept quietly at the loss of everything that had once seemed so important. Everyone had become used to a culture, a city, a place, which simply didn't work. Operators were rude. Trains were overcrowded and never on time. People sat in long traffic queues to go to pitiful paying jobs which left them slowly going backwards. The government looked after its own most loyal followers, dishing out money to their beloved "working families", and the right wing curmudgeon that had arisen inside him flickered with discontent, with outright hostility at the shadows lurking behind every door.

He didn't know why he hadn't stopped. He didn't know why the lunatic queen, drunk to the core, kept trying to rise within. He looked at the masses and saw the betrayal of his own dreams. All those fantasies he had once held so dear, the betterment of mankind, the nobility of the common man, dedicating his life to the greater good, all of it had shattered, debased in the basement of defeated dreams. Because when he woke up he realised what most people already knew: that most people were not nice, that the venality of the welfare class, the working class that never worked, had become so extreme with each passing generation of dependency that their souls were dirty, grimy, ridden with filth and walked on. So Gersch finished the job as quickly as he could, holding his breath each time he was forced to go inside. The dogs never stopped yapping. The woman never stopped talking. And he knew now that there was no faith, no solution, that everything he had dreamed was wrong; and the only way out was to truly get out, because there was nothing left here worth having.






THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,25345852-29277,00.html

THE cause of a deadly explosion on a boat carrying asylum seekers off northwest Australia is unlikely to be known for some time, Immigration Minister Chris Evans says.

Navy and police are investigating the explosion that killed three people and wounded dozens more near Ashmore reef yesterday morning.

West Australian Premier Colin Barnett claimed the wooden boat was doused with petrol by those on board before the explosion occurred.

Senator Evans said it was too early to speculate.

"We're not going to know that for some time,'' he told ABC Radio.

"One thing we learnt from the children overboard affair is that politicians shouldn't be making claims about the things they don't know.''

"I think it would be wise if everyone stopped pretending they knew.''

The boat was carrying 49 people, mostly men believed to be from Afghanistan.

Thirty-one of the injured have reached the mainland for treatment in Darwin and Perth.

Senator Evans said all would be processed as normal on Christmas Island once they had been treated and had recovered from their injuries.

"We will treat these people as we would any other arrival.''

Senator Evans said the government had not reduced its border security arrangements.

"We are not at all going to allow Australia's borders to be threatened.''

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/17/us/politics/17detain.html?hp

WASHINGTON — The Justice Department made public on Thursday detailed memos describing harsh interrogation techniques used by the Central Intelligence Agency, as President Obama said that C.I.A. operatives who carried out the techniques would not be prosecuted.

One technique authorized for use by the C.I.A. beginning in August 2002 was the use of “insects placed in a confinement box,” presumably to induce fear on the part of a terror suspect. According to a footnote, the technique was not used.

The interrogation methods were among the Bush administration’s most closely guarded secrets, and what was released on Thursday afternoon marked the most comprehensive public accounting to date of a program that some senior Obama administration officials contend included illegal torture.

The memos were released after a tense internal debate at the White House. Saying that it is a “time for reflection, not retribution,” Mr. Obama reiterated his opposition to a extensive investigation of controversial counterterrorism programs.

“In releasing these memos, it is our intention to assure those who carrying out their duties relying in good faith upon the legal advice from the Department of Justice that they will not be subject to prosecution,” theWhite House statement said.

One memo showed that a top Justice Department lawyer issued a legal opinion in 2005 saying that C.I.A. officers were allowed to use a combination of interrogation methods to produce a more effective result.

“Interrogators may combine water dousing with other techniques, such as stress positions, wall standing, the insult slap, or the abdominal slap,” wrote the official, Stephen G. Bradbury.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/04/17/2545180.htm

Federal Climate Change Minister Penny Wong has brushed aside criticism the Government's proposed emissions trading scheme is so flawed, it may be better to dump it.

The Government's former climate change adviser, Professor Ross Garnaut, says that unless there are significant changes to the proposed scheme, it might be better to start from scratch.

Professor Garnaut yesterday told a Senate inquiry, it was a "lineball" call whether it would be better to push ahead with the proposed scheme with its flaws, or start from scratch.

Opposition Climate Change spokesman Greg Hunt says the Government cannot ignore the criticism.

"Professor Garnaut was Kevin Rudd's hand picked high priest of climate change," he said.

Greens Senator Christine Milne says the Government needs to take notice of the criticism.

"The Rudd Government's credibility is very much on the line," she said.

But Senator Wong says starting again is not an option.

"People have their own opinions. The Government's made decisions in the national interest," she said.

"Going back to the drawing board on emissions trading would significantly increase business uncertainty."

However, she says the Government will consider a suggestion from fellow Labor senators to amend the proposed legislation to make sure voluntary action by the community to reduce emissions is taken into account when setting targets.

The Government wants the scheme operating by mid next year.

This Place Is A Zoo

*



Born Sandy Devotional
Such a sweet girl to me
I'll do what I can now
To love her to dust
For dust is what we all shall be

Born Sandy Devotional
All that I ever knew
Don’t know the wrong of that
Don’t know the good
Sticks like hot tar to the sole of my shoe

On yellow hood of her car with salt knots in her hair
And some cards and some chicken and beer
We can’t mess about
We kiss until...
Kiss until she has to leave

We’re born Sandy Devotional
All that I ever knew
Don’t know the wrong of that
Don’t know the good
Both of them ugly, both of them true

I don’t want to hear no gossip or chat
No Bill or Pete, Kevin or Sam
They were just poison
They don’t mean a thing
Burn up in my spit
Like the fat in the pan

Born Sandy Devotional
Born under alternate stars
Born to be Sandy’s confessional
Burning like that to be trapped in her eyes

We go for a swim
And we wash it all off
And hope that it leaves us alone
But with each fresh kiss
Blood wells up again
Dries on top of skin
And eats into the bone

Born Sandy Devotional
Bound for an all sunless star
Bound to be Sandy’s confessional
Born Sandy Devotional
Feather and tarred

Born Sandy Devotional
Bound for an all godless star
Headed for trouble, looking for grief
Born Sandy Devotional
Feather and tarred
Yeah, feather and tarred
Feather and tarred

Dust is what we all shall be….
Dust is what we all shall be….

Born Sandy Devotional, The Triffids.



"This place is a zoo," he shouted, keeping out the expletives because no doubt they were used to being yelled at. He had made an appointment, but of course doctors are the only one in this community who regard your time as worthless and leave you waiting in their cramped foyers for hours without so much as a blink. No one worked around here. The right wing curmudgeon lurking inside was alive and well today, sick of the smell of the unwashed, sick of the dysfunction, sick of all the lazy bludgers rorting the system while all the suckers get up and go to work, paying extortionate taxes for nothing. He had said it before and believed it even more today; wipe out 90% of the government, local, state and federal, and we'd all be better off. This bloated government, these useless paper shufflers, these he spat the word bureaucrats, these useless bureaucrats were destroying everything he had once held dear.

There wasn't a word of English spoken on the train. The anglosphere in which he grew up had been thoroughly and completely destroyed. Arguments still raged over the taking out of Christian symbols from the hospital prayer rooms, in case they might offend other faiths, which of course they don't because most other faiths embrace Christianity as part of the pantheon. But instead of the sterile, Godless place the ideologues had dreamed of, instead they had invited the most demonic, rigid and fascist of all fanatics into their midst. And his head roared and soared and he couldn't bear it anymore, he just wanted to escape. There was no pleasure to be had in anything. Love starved. He glanced up at the hideous crowd in the waiting room, thought he heard his name and went to ask.

If you weren't paying so much attention to your computer you might have heard your name being called, some smart arsed gronk who hadn't worked in a generation said. It was just the wrong thing to say at the wrong time, as his head pounded and the pressures of work drove him to the edge of tears. Some of us have to work, he snapped back. Not all of us are bludgers. The bloke rose, his manhood offended. They were working class, they prided themselves on being working class, even though none of them had held down a job in their entire lives. Brief weeks at factories to comply with Centrelink requirements was the only thing in their lives that had ever passed for employment.

But it didn't matter. The bludgers had won. He was so sick of parasites, so sick of pain, could hear and fear the calling crumble of a decaying city, the collapsing brickwork, the subhumans that infested the gateways, their eyes filled with ill intent, yellow slits, the darkness of cliches. Because nothing could portray what he now felt, the complete disconnection from his fellow humans, the horror of walking past shadows, knowing anything could reach out at anytime, grab him by the ankle and haul him screaming into the shattered building. His training told him the man was about to attack. His nostrels were flared. Everything was in darkness. He could smell the sour smell of the unwashed. Why did these people never bathe?

So he crawled through unexpected side alleys and he twisted to escape the coming punch. Security guards were already appearing, trying to quieten the man down. So he said it again: eff off bludger. And that was it. The guy whacked him. There was an immediate bubble of activity, as if violence had cleared the air. After all the femninist claptrap about violence and passivity had turned righteous anger into a heinous, masculine crime, while some of the biggest bullies in the country paraded around on anti-bullying committees and everything was shattered, every shred of decency, common sense, decency above all. They pulled into a station called Seven Hills. He could have been anywhere. Nearing Blacktown. Nearing the grungiest places in the city.

And what amazed him the most was how so few of these people worked. You could tell by their trackies and their cigarette lined faces, by their casual no-hurry attitude and their slack stance. There was no pride. There was no decency. There was no dignity of labour. There was no hard work. He looked at the graffiti and he looked at their life-battered faces; and he looked at the slack fat faces of the useless security guards, so he said it again: eff off bludger. And then he cowed as the blows rained down and the place erupted into turmoil, with kids screaming and women clutching babies and blokes bayed at this smart arse city bastard who had dared to tell them the truth: they were a zoo, they were bludgers, they were a complete and total waste of space, a drain on the public purse. And so it was that the few remaining tax payers, those evil servants of capitalism, those evil neo-liberals as the left had labelled them disparagingly, grew more and more angry as they watched the country collapse around them. Nothing could be saved. Nothing would be saved. This was the future. If only he didn't care.




THE BIGGER STORY:

http://uk.reuters.com/article/marketsNewsUS/idUKN1551506920090415

WASHINGTON, April 15 (Reuters) - President Barack Obama promised Americans his administration would reform the "monstrous" U.S. tax system as millions faced the dreaded annual deadline on Wednesday for filing income tax returns.

Obama used Tax Day, a national ritual of public frustration due to the confusing tax code, to underscore his drive to cut taxes for many Americans while increasing spending to jolt the United States out of its worst recession in decades.

Opposition Republicans seized the chance to rail against what they see as wasteful spending by his new Democratic administration, and some of Obama's grass-roots critics staged "tea party" protests in several U.S. cities.

Obama is pushing a $3.5 trillion federal budget plan that Republicans and some Democrats say carries too much deficit spending and too few tax cuts.

"My administration has taken far-reaching action to give tax cuts to the Americans who need them, while jump-starting growth and job creation in the process," Obama said at a White House event with a group of workers and business owners.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25340483-5006787,00.html

THE South Australian Government is drafting new, tougher anti-bikie laws to create organised crime offences and higher penalties for those carrying out crimes for outlaw motorcycle gangs.

State Attorney-General Michael Atkinson last night told The Australian he would seek cabinet approval within weeks to amend the Serious and Organised Crime (Control Act).

The move to create even tougher anti-bikie laws in South Australia comes as eight Gypsy Jokers, including the chapter's president, Scott Thomas, and sergeant-at-arms, David Shannon, were arrested yesterday during eight simultaneous raids on houses across Adelaide.

A meeting of the country's attorneys-general in Canberra today will consider a national approach to anti-bikie laws to crack down on organised crime and prevent tough laws in South Australia and NSW from pushing bikies into other states.

The attorneys-general also will ask the Rudd Government to change telecommunication-interception laws so police can use evidence gathered in telephone intercepts to charge gang members with participation offences.

The country's police commissioners yesterday met in Western Australia to discuss anti-bikie laws and strategies.

Under Mr Atkinson's proposed tougher laws, there would be a new offence of participating in, or contributing to, a criminal organisation's activities.

It would be an offence for members of an organised criminal group to instruct others to commit offences for the benefit of, at the direction of or in association with the criminal organisation.

Mr Atkinson will amend the current law to allow for mutual recognition of laws enacted by other jurisdictions, enabling him to ban a chapter of a gang in South Australia if it exists or relocates there and is banned interstate.

He will present the proposed changes at today's meeting of attorneys-general.

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-jackson-auction15-2009apr15,0,3010212.story

Sorry, Michael Jackson fans. The crystal glove worn in the "Billie Jean" video -- and many more artifacts from his years as the so-called King of Pop -- is no longer up for grabs.

An auction of Jackson's assets from his Neverland estate near Santa Barbara was canceled Tuesday, after Jackson and a Beverly Hills auction house reached an agreement that the items would not be sold.

Jackson's representatives had filed suit in Los Angeles Superior Court to stop the sale, claiming the singer had never signed the auction contract and that certain items listed for sale were irreplaceable. A hearing on a preliminary injunction was scheduled for this morning.

But a joint statement from Jackson representative Tohme R. Tohme and auction organizer Darren Julien on Tuesday announced that Julien's Auctions would cancel the sale but extend its exhibition of the items through April 25, after which Jackson would get them back. Specific terms of the agreement were not disclosed.

A separate statement from Tohme said that "there was so much interest from so many of Jackson's fans that instead of putting the items in the hands of private collectors, Dr. Tohme and Julien's Auctions have made arrangements that will allow the collection to be shared with and enjoyed by Jackson's fans for many years to come."

What that means exactly was not clear. Julien would not elaborate and Tohme could not be reached for comment.

The eclectic collection -- which includes the gates of Neverland Ranch and elaborately beaded jackets Jackson wore in concert -- is on view to the public at the former Robinsons-May building in Beverly Hills. It is loosely organized into three categories -- stage wear and music memorabilia, toys and "Disneyana," and furniture and decorative arts. Tickets are $20.