Finger Lickin' Good?

Wherein a possible racist slur opens up discussion regarding postmodernist theory and 'the global village'.

Dear Jouissance fiends, and free-play addicts!

So, it's been three weeks without Internet. I've moved house deep into the bushland of Van Diemen's Land to a place with neither garbage disposal, mail, or broadband Internet except via wireless connection. It's all a little too much 'The Hills Have Eyes' for my liking during my more sceptical moments.

But, as you can see, I have Internet on. And what shall I see when I first log on, but Australia, my very own antipodean paradise, once again falling into cyberland's headlines for another racist slur debate.

Now, I'm willing to go along with a theme for a while here. But I really don't want to turn this blog into another 'Defense of Australia's Inter-Racial Record' diatribe. Especially when the circumstances surrounding the whole affair are so ...juicy.

It's almost disappointing really when one sees the actual clip. So here it is:

Now, this really stunned me. Because, for a while, in all honesty I simply couldn't understand the reason as to why the advertisement really was racist. And then it hit me. This is all about what the post-modernists would call a discourse. Of course!

How does fried chicken possibly equate with post-modernist theory you may ask. Well it has to do with the whole idea, that a text is no longer a text by itself. A text must be read by a reader who then melds that text and filters it through the discourse that he/she identifies with. For instance, Derrida, I believe, talks about how its fine for us to watch two grown men attack one another when viewed through the discourse of a 'sport' such as boxing. But when seen outside of that context viewed by people who do not share this discourse where two men stripped down to their underwear attacking one another in a canvas square is socially acceptable because its a sport, when viewed by such people incapable of sharing in this narrative of meaning, suddenly the entire scene of ducking weaving and punching takes on a much more nightmarish context.

And we all have a context. We all have certain tropes that we consider to be normal. "Of course," we say, "but doesn't everybody do that?" Well no. The world is a big place. After all, it is still being argued as to whether there are cultures in the world who would find Shakespeare not only un-entertaining, but totally offensive. (And having watched The Taming of the Shrew recently with a modern third millennium discourse I have to agree!)

So this is what two cultures in the world, each with their different discourses would see when viewing the said advertisement.

The Australian:

A lone Australian supporter, watches a cricket game as the sole away team supporter amidst a sea of West Indies supporters who are being loud and distracting, but no more than the Australian supporting crowds are at home as well. In order to quieten the crowds down the supporter buys KFC, (who sponsor the cricket) and everyone shares in the meal and it's all 'too easy.' There are no slurs in the advertisement because it is one in a series of advertisements where crowds of people are quietened down by the same scenario. It's simply taking a theme used by the food company, KFC and making it more relevant to the cricket context in which it wedges its advertisements during change overs.

The American:

A lone white man sits civilised and quiet in an audience as raucous African Americans who dance and gyrate around him. In desperation to quieten them down, he turns to something that he knows will quieten down all African-Americans: fried chicken. He hands out fried chicken, which has long been associated with the poor southern African-American, and lo and behold the masses are satiated and quieten down, just like a crowd of children, or, if you like, just like all the racist caricatures would have you believe. And controlling such an unruly crowd of African-Americans is too the lone white man 'too easy'.

So, the question remains, is the advertisement racist. And there is a really simple answer to the whole debate: Yes and No.

American's may find this hard to believe, but no one in Australia who viewed that ad, even for a second would have assumed that they were African-American's, and really, in Australia, there simply isn't a racial stereotype involving poultry goods, deep fried or otherwise.

Read that statement very carefully. That's not someone saying "Oh but its all in good fun", but is instead someone stating that to millions of people in the world, outside of the American discourse, the very tropes that made such an advertisement offensive simply don't exist.

This being said, I can, when viewing the advertisement through the discourse of an American see how the advertisement could be interpreted as offensive. And I can see why KFC as a multi-national company, pulled the ad immediately when the furor arose. No company likes negative press.

But then, that very action immediately rose the hackles of all full blooded Australians as well. For you see, while Australians are without the social discourses regarding relations between white Caucasians and African-Americans (especially regarding chicken) that abound thick and fast in the American psyche, we do however, have heaps of tropes regarding inferiority complexes and love of the underdog which has been argued is a natural result of a nation the size of a continent formed for the express purpose of being a penal colony. So American Imperialism having a say on what can and can not be aired on Australian TV is considered entirely galling to the average Australian. Especially when looking at the Turk clip, where we can see that the commentators are obviously clueless regarding Australian culture.

And while I think, one nation imposing their culture over the top of another is repugnant in most cases, an interesting point is made: Most Australians would like the advertisement to remain, played in the context that is is watched by an all Australian audience where a pocket of understanding regarding the tropes is already possessed. But, in the age of cyberland or terra virtualis is this kind of anti-global thinking simply parochial and unrealistic.

But then, if we begin making concessions regarding the plethora of nationalities Internet viewers may be, should we then avoid showing souls of feet in all media clips just in case its seen in arabic youtube? That will of course, make filming traditional Japanese rituals very difficult!

The above is a hyperbolic example, but as we can see by a single fast-food advertisement, small things can become extremely problematic for international relations. This simple example of an inter-cultural cock-up will undoubtedly cost the Australian tourist trade greatly.

And where does district or national culture fit into the idea of the global village? And if we start taking views in regards to what is offensive and what is not, then whose views should we take in particular? America's? They have been in the past the great exporters of media. But in a new millennium of self created and informally viewed media in the form of the Internet, we can now say that China and India would be the bulk of numbers of Internet audience members. Should we then be turning to our Asian fellows in regards to Internet etiquette?

Either way, this sordid little affair has been fabulous for opening up a can of worms regarding who gets to dictate the international discourse of acceptable behaviour regarding internet relations, and it's a shame that al of the really interesting aspects of the affair have been sidelined to make way for more salacious but superficial race-debates.

Education and Aboriginality

Wherein is contained some musings on native culture and indigenous affairs in Terra Australis.

Dear Native and Alien species!

What better way to follow up an article on the distasteful entertainment genre of minstrelsy than to discuss Aboriginal affairs?

I don't actually have race on the mind, dear reader, far from it. But I recently felt the need to educate some of my students in regards to some home truths surrounding their place of birth.

Having recently explored the bravery and determination of some of Europe's most famous explorers I felt the need to point out the darker flip-side to such expeditions. -The primary one being that, after such heroes, against all odds, forged their way through unknown waters, having pitted their wills and flimsiest of sailing vessels against all of Nature's whims, having managed to sail, halfway across the world and having discovered exotic lands with unknown peoples and animals far far away from their homes, after overcoming such huge odds, these very same heroic white explorers seemed to suffer from an unfortunate tendency to then stick little flags in said grounds and, well, begin to invade said lands, for their own Empire's gains, much to the indigenous population's detriment.

The game of Global Imperial Expansion was Europe's favourite past time for the last six hundred years. And it was a game that was played by nearly everyone. It was loads of fun! Bring your friends! Make it an event! Take over some other people's lands with hilarious results! B.Y.O though because the natives don't always have the ability to ferment drinks yet!

And of course, now, in the 20th and 21st Centuries, the game is over, and we are sort of dealing sweeping up the refuse and coping with the god awful hang-over of such tom-foolery from our past.

Nothing makes you sober up quite like racial genocide, does it?

I think, in fact nearly every major example of upheaval in the 20 and 21st Century to date, could be expressed as a direct consequence from Imperial Expansionism, either from it's invasion into a land, or its sudden and catastrophic departure without the proper institutions to support the population post-departure.

Don't believe me? WWI was caused largely by two Empire's flexing their muscles and escalating the violence until something had to give, especially when the Ottoman empire fell apart and well, it was such a juicy prize, someone, had to take it over.

WWII is largely a direct result of the disastrous end of WWI.

Vietnam is largely due to the Viet Cong shrugging off their French government.

The Rwanda Massacres are largely due to disastrous tribal relations, encouraged by the Belgians.

Even the current Middle East Crisis can be chartered back to fat white Europeans, dividing up the post war world like it was a game of Risk.

Not to mention The Berlin Wall, Afghanistan and even 9/11. -All of which are caused, in part if not, entirely by some sort of Empire trying to expand its borders.

But as you may know, dear reader, I am fromTerra Australis, and in particular from Van Diemen's Land, as the Portuguese named it. Or Tasmania, as the English named it. And, to be specific, I live on theD'Entrecasteaux Channel as the French called, it. All in the name of Imperial Expansion. However, I didn't until recently know what the people living here for the past 35,000 years (as can be supported by archaeological research) call this land. And in fact I doubt that most people who live here in Van Diemens Land would know, that for the longest time, the indigenous population called this lovely island Trowenna. And I would be certain for a fact that very VERY few people indeed would know that the indigenous population around said D'Entrecasteaux Channel did not in fact call Trowenna by that name at all, but had a different name entirely:

Loetrouwitter.

So here I am, a mainlander, having moved to Loetrowitter to work as a teacher of English and History at a school with a strong multicultural and inclusive culture and code of conduct. And I think it would be a good idea to teach my students a little bit about the negative side of Global Imperial Expansionism and in particular, the effects of said expansionism upon the local indigenous culture.

Enter, H.G. Wells. And his fabulous Science Fiction novel, War of the Worlds. Now, dear reader, I'm an unabashed nerd. So I love a good Science-fiction yarn. (With the emphasis on good.) So Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley and Ray Bradbury really crank my tractor academically speaking.

But what on earth could a science fiction novel have to do with Indigenous affairs in Australia? This is a question, you may well ask, and indeed a lot of people did ask me this question when I told others about what I was teaching in my English lessons. Well, I could answer this question myself. But instead, I think I'll let H.G. Wells explain himself, in his own words.

"And before we judge them [the Martians] too harshly, we must remember what ruthless and utter destruction our own species has wrought, not only upon animals, such as the vanished Bison and the Dodo, but upon its own inferior races. The Tasmanians, in spite of their human likeness, were entirely swept out of existence in a war of extermination waged by European immigrants, in the space of fifty years. Are we such apostles of mercy as to complain if the Martians warred in the same spirit?"

—Chapter I, "The Eve of the War"

Putting aside for a moment, the ghastly racist Victorian sentiments that such a term as 'inferior races' conjures, we can clearly see here that what started out as geek-fodder and an inspiration for some fabulous 70's rock-opera, is, in actual fact an extended allegory against the cultural genocide that occurred to the indigenous peoples of Loetrowitter.

And of course, what a stunningly nasty chapter in race relations the history of English "settlement" in Loetrowitter makes.

I won't belabour the details. Because you can find it anywhere. If you bother to look it up.

What I found particularly odd though, was that such crucial pieces of Australia's history, like the war against the Aboriginals of Tasmania, like the black line, like the Aboriginal resistance, like the Flinders Island concentration camp were all completely non-existent in my own Australian history lessons in favour of much more important topics like 'When did Australia's train lines finally become a regulation width?'

So immediately, I can see a massive hole in my own education regarding Indigenous culture and affairs. In fact, I think this is something nearly all Australians can claim. I recall many moments of token "lets learn an aboriginal myth" lessons involving Tidalik the Big Green Frog because somewhere down the line, someone had made it a song which meant for great kodak moments involving children's school plays. I also recall being taught, as recently as 1988 for a musical performance about the history of Australia, Rolf Harris' Carra Barra Wirra Canna which uses the word 'piccaninnies' not once, but several times. Apparently finding an actual aboriginal song to represent the aboriginal period in Australia's history, was too arduous a task for our music teacher.

So with such educational faux pas in mind, I set out to rectify this situation with my own students. -My own students who have bee fed the soul-milk of Greek myths, Egyptian mysteries, Norse sagas, Indian myths, Celtic Wondertales, Judaeo-Christian myths and other indigenous peoples tales fables and cultures. These are students who know what the Rig Veda is and are familiar with the Eddas and the Torah, and the Koran. And yet, what can I provide them in regards to their local Aboriginal Culture?

Well, I set out to see what I could find, and promptly borrowed from the library, text after text of books surrounding this topic. And I have to say, dear reader, I was frightened by what I found. Not by the dearth of information regarding Tasmanian Aboriginal Culture, but rather, by the fact that what was called Tasmanian Aboriginal Culture, should have been called Tasmanian Aboriginal History, and in particular, Tasmanian Aboriginal Genocide post-European Invasion.

Now, please, don't misunderstand me here. What happened to the Tasmanian Aboriginal population is beyond horrific. And I am certainly not of the 'build a bridge, and get over it' school of apologists that abound in white-anglo society. But I find it extremely concerning for a culture any culture to be so intrinsically linked with the story of it's demise, to the detriment of the actual culture it proclaims to be discussing and dissemenating!

When I pick up a book labelled The Aboriginal Tasmanians for instance, I expect to see something, ANYTHING on pre-European Tasmanian Aboriginal culture. In short, my studies showed to me that any knowledge regarding this subject was being cannibalised by the historical and political aspects of the issue.

And then I found a stunning piece called Our Land: Our Living History. It is by, presumably, Kaye Price. And it has been the most illuminating piece of literature I have found to date regarding Tasmanian Aboriginal Culture. But unfortunately I can't call it a book. Because it's not.

It's a white folder with some A4 sheets of rough copy material bound inside, with an incomplete index. Its 239 pages long, and I know this because someone has hand-written the page numbers in the bottom right corner. You can't buy this text. I looked it up on Google and it is only referred to in passing. Hell, ebay didn't even offer to sell it to me, and ebay offers to sell me anything I type up on Google.

So there it is. The best resource of Tasmanian Aboriginal Culture I've ever found, with loads of information. And it's not even made it to a book format. It's not even out there in the general public.

And this highlights for me a major problem with Indigenous Affairs in Australia. For there to be any reconciliation between two cultures there must first be an understanding. We expect our Indigenous population to understand our laws our religion, our ethics and morals. And yet, there is not a lot of understanding in the opposite way. And in fact, I would argue that there can not be unless there is information. Australia's epic failure regarding indigenous affairs stems from a lack of education regarding Aboriginal culture. Without that education, the majority of this country spouts views and opinions about such things that they are completely ignorant about.

Australia needs to understand the ability that education plays in shaping the opinions and behaviours of the next generation. I know intimately the effects of education, both as a teacher, and as a student that was educated through the politically-correct era of the early 90's.

The Australian government needs to work very closely with our indigenous population to make sure that there is real and credible resources out there for our schools. Such resources will aid in providing a new-generation who has an educated understanding of our nation's indigenous cultures, as opposed to our current behaviour of, at best, well-meaningly sympathetic, but grasping in the dark, ever-so-slightly-patronising ignorance.

A Map showing Australia's Indigenous Population's Language Groupings of which there are more than 200 different tribal and language variations, and no less the 48 in Tasmania.

A Study Into A Race Relations Nightmare

Wherein the state of Terra Australis is called into question regarding its racist tendencies.

Dear Melatonin deficients and proficients!

I blame Madonna actually. No, I do. See, it's this album right here:


Look at it. LOOK AT IT!!! Here is a woman desperately trying to cling to her youth. I don't know if she wants to fallate that leather strap or if she's about lick it and scrub some dirt off my face with it. Either way this album is a testimony to our Western capitalist inability to let age pass us by in a graceful manner (Youth and beauty is, after all, the greatest commodities in the English speaking world).

So here comes Madonna, chicken limbed, and krumping her way to the next hip replacement centre, putting out a record when really she ought to stop and let the next generation have a go. And what happens? Well with her reputation, at the end of the day it doesn't matter that the album is mediocre and cringeworthy, people will buy it. And mediocre sales means that she will still get at least some money.

And every fifty year old entertainer who is passed their prime stood up and took notice.

Enter Daryl Somers:

If Tracy Grimshaw is the Lucifer of Australian TV, the Daryl Somers is Satan.

I've never mentioned him up until now as I was concerned that it would invoke his presence like the 'Candyman'. But alas, having clinged to our TV sets like an STD for two decades and refusing to die while hosting Dancing with the Stars, Daryl Somers has resurged like beubonic plague onto our screens yet again this time with a Hey Hey it's Saturday Remake, with all the original cast whooping it up like it was 1989.

Of course its not actually on Saturday because it would get totally destroyed by Midsomer Murders and the latest Stuart Little movie. So Hey Hey it's Saturday has moved its decrepid zimmer frame haulin' ass to Wednesdays, where it can be the 'highest ranking show' (in comparison to Border Security and Celebrity Masterchef)!

Please excuse me for discussing TV. I don't actually own one. But it was hard to miss what happened because it flooded the internet and therefore entered the youtube and international media really quickly. See, Daryl and his troop of 'hilarious misfits and laugh-a-minute geriatrics' just aren't that aware of information dissemination in the post-millenium age. This whole inter-ma-net-thing-a-mi-bob is all Gen XY craziness and beyond their baby-boomer mindset.

As is their political correctness as we shall see:

OK. So as we can see here we have a major case of Minstrelsy going on here....

Oh wait. Don't you know what Minstrelsy is?

Well, believe it or not, Australians really don't have a great deal of knowledge regarding Minstrelsy. I had to look it up after watching a Rotten Tomatoes Post regarding Sacha Baron Cohen's Bruno. But boy am I glad I did. Because a lot of things made a lot of sense then.

But rather than tell you what it is, maybe you could glean an idea of minstrelsy from the following youtube clip:

Minstrelsy: Wikipedia (are they ever wrong?) describes this term as meaning: 'The minstrel show, or minstrelsy, was an American entertainment consisting of comic skits, variety acts, dancing, and music, performed by white people in blackface or, especially after the Civil War, black people in blackface.' Wikipedia then declares this fine tradition of 'blackface' as being: 'the first distinctly American theatrical form.'

Who knew there was a whole genre of this sort of thing? Well, unfortunately for the rest of the world this sort of thing is news for most Australians.

Why is this? Well it comes down to our historical legacy. You see, this is Terra Australis, The Great White Southern Land. We (as in white people, but you knew that because when does a history book ever say we and not mean 'Europeans'?) arrived at this land very recently. Only two hundred and a bit years ago. Then, having killed lots of the original inhabitants and then attempting most vigorously at absorbing the leftovers into our 'collective hive' we are left with a primarily white anglo culture with Indigenous Aboriginals consisting of less than 5% of our population.

Australia's relationship with it indigenous peoples is its greatest shame. It is truly a logistical, beuareaucratic and legal nightmare. But this is a nightmare which has endless repercussions on the human world of suffering over and over again.

Our name is dirt in the UN. Why? Because of the blatant poor living conditions for Indigenous Australians. Whilst we white anglo/celts are kicking back in the first world, our indigenous population is experiencing third world living conditions. AND THEN they get our scorn and condemnation for not 'getting their act together'.

So what's the solution? Well, the previous conservative government created a fabulous policy, (one still in affect to this day with our new liberal government may I add) that was based entirely around race. We call it the 'Nothern Territory Intervention. '

That's right, we in Australia actually have two laws, one set of laws for those of us in main-stream culture, and another if you are living in an Northern Territory Aboriginal Community.

Now, one could argue that the problems faced by Aboriginal Australians are unique to Aboriginal Australians and therefore require specific laws that address these issues. Indeed, as there are rampant issues of domestic abuse against women in the Nothern Territory Aboriginal Communities, fueled by a hideous level of alcoholism one could argue that this was a humanitarian requirement in order to stop abuse against women and children and to stop the cycle of abuse.

Not that I am jumping on the 'blame and shame wagon' here. As Jane Elliot of Blue Eyes Brown Eyes fame said (I paraphrase, and she was talking at the time in regards to the first nation peoples of Canada) 'let's take away a people's way of life and then get them to sit around for days on end with nothing to do in neat and tidy reservations in the middle of nowhere and then let's see if they'll turn to alcoholism. Because then we can look down on them.'

But still, a law made by a government justifying an anglo occupation over an indigenous community, restricting porn, alcohol, drugs and other such things, (ironically, a law made from Australia's Capital Territory which has the most flexible laws regarding porn, alcohol and other fun things) makes my skin itch. It just sounds a little too...well, apartheid for my liking. But it's not like we should of expected this. After all, it's not like the Prime Minister involved in the Intervention was an advocate for the White Australian Policy that dominated Australia's immigration for much of the 20th century. ...oh. Oh wait. Oh yeah that's right. In the 70's and 80's he WAS an advocate for Australia's White Australian Policy!

But the point is, that although we have and had such a terrible record with our indigenous population, our relationship with our cultural minorities outside of this example, amongst the anglo waste-lands is (comparitively speaking) pretty happy. I say this as a white-anglo male having lived in Western Sydney for a large period of my life. I've seen multiculturalism flourish and be successful. I've watched Cabramatta's Moon festival in full swing while London declared multiculturalism was a failed experiment, I've seen whole suburbs relishing the end of Ramadan whilst country after country encountered difficulties in dealing with the integration of various 'ethnic minorities'.

Multiculturalism is alive and well in urban Australia. And it's successful. Yes we have blips on the map. Yes, we get some truly astonishing moments of intolerance and nastiness (such as the Cronulla Riots where some people were beat up from both anglo and arabic ethnicities). But then, sometimes, we have riots because the cops are here and we're so GOD DAMNED BORED WITH OUR PATHETIC SUBURBAN EXISTENCE that we'll take any excuse to make a scene. (Don't believe me? This is exactly the 'flash-point' behind the Macquarie Fields Riots!)

But the important point is that none of these major black marks against Australia's name in regards to race relations could possible match up with the sheer day to day business of racism that occurs in Europe and America. A few guys getting beaten up made headlines in Australian news. Think about that. They weren't murdered, nor tortured, nor experiencing wide-scale institutionalised racism that we saw in America in the 1950's.

Why then, do we see Australia as being such a terrible place in regards to racism?

It's simple. Indigenous Australian affairs only became an issue in most people's minds post 1988 when they began to become political and 'sound-byte worthy'. Before that, most people thought of Aboriginals as exotic people with exotic culture and probably left their thinking process at that. And as Aboriginal Australians only make up less than 5% of the population, their suffering really was overshadowed by such issues as overcoming the White Australian Policy, equal rights for women and other such sound-byte whoring topics.

In regards to other cultures, such as the Blackface affair with Hey Hey It's Saturday, it's really very obvious:

Australians are naive.

We are removed from the majority of the world. Sit an Australian down and tell them about the injustice you feel because you're a Palestinian in Israel, or an African-American in the South of USA or a Kurd in Iraq and I can guarantee that most Australians would look on with disbelief and possibly horror, (but that would depend on how much alcohol they had).

Similarly, sit an Australian down and tell them about the injustices you felt as an Aboriginal at the hands of the government, tell them about your story of suffering as a member of the stolen generation and again, due to our racial ignorance you will experience disbelief and maybe horror.

Australian's are, as a rule, clueless when it comes to dealing with people of other ethnicities and cultures. Well-meaning, but clueless. Expect a great time, but also expect total gaffs in behaviour due to inexperience.

I watched in horror at Hey Hey It's Saturday as they showed a comedy routine that once won a Comedy competition twenty years ago sporting 'blackface' in all its ugly charicaturised glory. And I wanted to hand in my passport at the point when I realised that such old tired TV formats were making a comeback.

But what was really interesting was that both Daryl Somers and Australia's Deputy Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, claimed that the act was '[not] meant to be offensive' and was 'only in the spirit of fun'. Well no. The act drew from an offensive cultural source and caricatured the physical characteristics of a different race for comedic effect. That's a racist form of entertainment. But they were unconscious of having done something offensive, so while the motive might be harmless the result was, in fact, not.

But then, I'd hazard to guess, neither Julia Gillard nor Daryl Somers have ever heard of Minstrelsy. And that is both a good, and at times, a bad thing.

Righteous Indignation

Wherein Religious Institutions are examined in regards to our laws.

http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/mp/6104482/church-can-reject-gays-single-mums/

This link will take you, oh adventurous web-viewing person, to a news story detailing how, in a Western world, a law is being passed to allow religious institutions the right to discriminate against those who 'undermine' their belief systems.

If however you can't be bothered to view it, (and lets face it, it's a pretty banal example of journalism) the brief gist of the tale is that in the state of Victoria in the South East of Terra Australis some religious groups have recently gotten their luxurious robes into somewhat of a knot due to the fact that they are enforced by law to consider employing homosexuals or indeed mothers out of wed-lock even though they are seen as being contrary to their belief system.

So, in a display of righteous indignation they took their holy crusade to the state government and petitioned for their right to discriminate according to the tenants of their belief system. The Government, and this is the part that truly astounds me, the GOVERNMENT then bartered with the religious lobby groups and came up with a fabulous compromise:

In the State of Victoria, it will be perfectly lawful for religious institutions to discriminate against people due to their sexual orientation or practices if they are considered to be in contradiction to the values and morals of their religion. BUT they can not discriminate according to Race, gender, age, religion or disability.

Well, isn't that nice?

I'm so glad that the State Government managed to roll up their sleeves and demonstrate to all and sundry the sheer awesome might of their power-brokering skills!

My question is, surely, an institution, religious or otherwise, that is discriminatory in any way, is in contravention to our 'fair go' policy that is now written into the Australian Constitution. Doesn't that make, ANY institution that says 'you can be employed, and you can be employed, but YOU can not be employed because you're gay/lesbian/unmarried and sexually active' unconstitutional?

Why is the government brokering to draw a fine line in the sand as to what is acceptable discrimination and what is not? And why are we not asking these religious institutions to explain their discriminatory and unconstitutional tenants of belief?

When we discuss multiculturalism and immigration, there is an understanding that anyone who comes to our great empty land of dust and poorly performed teen soap operas must temper their beliefs from their previous place of residence in order to live in accordance with Australia's values of mateship, a fair go, and other flag-waving generic terms which basically imply a non-discriminatory culture etc.

Indeed, Islam seems to regularly come under fire in our fabulously moralistic media for not falling in line with our Australian liberalism and gender equality. Is such tongue-clucking and finger pointing only reserved for those Australian's who aren't white then?

Religious institutions regularly need to liberalise and temper their extremities when coming to Australia in order to fit in with our laws. We see it, in our Imperialistically arrogant way as being in the name of progress. ("Oh yes, I understand that this is considered sinful in your back-water nation, but you also wipe your bottom with your hand. See, here in a civilised country, things have become much more evolved, so you'll need to change a few things if you intend to live here. Do try and get with the programme...") For instance, the extremities of Islam are tempered here as being about personal choice regarding burqa's etc. The caste system of India is tempered to fit in according to our anti-discrimination laws. It is unlawful in Australia for an Israeli jew to deny a job to a palestinian due to the tensions back in their respective homelands.

But apparently, our own religious institutions are above needing to 'get with the programme'. They are above needing to 'evolve with the times'.

ALL religious institutions need to be held to account for their beliefs. And if they are discriminatory, in the ways described by the federal anti-discrimination laws, then they should be considered an unlawful institution.

End of Story.


Christian Bigotry, anti-gay, pro-gay, multiculturalism, anti-christian, anti-religious, protest,

Rule Puritanica: The Art of Mass Indignant Outrage

Wherein a worrying new trend in our society is examined and widely condemned.

Dear Libertines and sex-fiends!

I simply must find myself commenting on a worrying trend that is slowly but steadily boiling my blood.

Generally speaking our society swings from conservative puritanism to radical sensuousness in great catastrophic arcs of amnesiac madness. And each seems totally unaware that this has happened before.

Don't believe me? Check it out people! There was the Puritan era of Cromwell where Christmas was illegal and thousands were hanged for suspicion of antics to do with devils, demons and other wondrously fun things. And that was followed by the Restoration of Charles II where the Earl of Rochester wrote fabulous pieces of work entitled Signor Dildo.

In a reverse exchange the extravagance of Marie Antoinette and entourage was turned on its head (pardon the pun) in the Terror which involved the destruction and bloody murder of anything deemed an unseemly display of wealth.

The Victorian Era of staidness and the sheer utter despair of World War One culminated in the most fantastically outrageous Roaring Twenties involving Flappers and hooch-parlors. And then descended again into a Great Depression and the industrial grade horror of World War II.

The Generic homogeneity of the 1950's erupted into the moratoriums of the 1960's and then sold themselves out into the anthem of Greed is Good in the 80's. (Although I must admit, if there is one word I can use to describe the 80's it wouldn't be 'puritanical')

And at no point in history does the community at large wake up and realise 'oh wait, we've done this all before.' And usually we just take things too far and people get hurt or hanged or shot.'

Our lack of understanding regarding cultural swings from sensuous extravagance through to flesh-hating puritanism, is our greatest downfall as a species. George Satayana once said: 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Well guess what people, we don't seem to be remembering. Earlier in my blog, I discussed the correct terminology for us as a species, as 'clever-man' didn't really suit. I think we looked at the 'violent-man'. And other such nasty terms. I think perhaps now the term 'unconscious-man' may be appropriate or possibly 'deluded-human' due to the fact that we believe we are more in control of ourselves as a species than in fact, we are.

I am annoyed as I am beginning to see a huge shift in culture toward puritanism and I blame Tracy Grimshaw. It's for many reasons, but primarily because she is evil and she smells, and indeed she resembles Miss Piggy when she's angry. But having completed my ad hominem attack I shall now address the real issues.

Deep in Terra Australis, we have a culture of (and I love the use of dialectical accentuation here) "Shee'yal be roiyt Mayt!" Meaning: Don't worry about it. -It is our unintelligible way of saying 'Hakuna Matata'.

Well of late, we as a country are becoming worried about it. We're not sure what 'it' is exactly, but as we're in a war on terror and the terrorists aren't living up to their end of the bargain we feel we need to be concerned and frightened about something. So, in short, we are concerned. Enter the cultural programming institution which is Channel 9 prime time news.

Knowing their audience demographic are over 40 and are therefore credulous and accepting of anything they present through their boxes of light and wonders, as long as its presented with the appropriate somber faces and emotive language, Channel 9 has done some truly extraordinary feats of orchestrating mass hysteria in the name of ratings grabbing.

To be fair, of course, Channel 9 is not the only voice of orchestrating mass hysteria. But then, that's to be expected as our media is the most concentrated in all of the Western world, having the majority of it owned by Murdoch, Packer or Fairfax.

But still, as Channel 9's horrendously titled A Current Affair is the loudest voice and the most watched example of cultural programming to date, we will focus primarily on it.

It begins with a chef. His name is Gordon Ramsay. He has made a stunningly lucrative career out of being rude and swearing on public television. It's sensationalist and as a result he's a celebrity. Well, guess what, chefs are people in high pressure jobs. They swear a lot. They also have tempers. It's really nothing that sensational. What is sensational is the fact that somewhere in Australia, a television company loosened its opinions regarding language on television enough to air Gordon Ramsay. At no point did they go, 'jeez, this guy seems to swear more than a Quentin Tarrentino film, we may need to NOT have him on our public television station.' No, instead they aired his shows and then in a stunning feat of cross-promotion had their own news-shows cluck their tongues about how sensational it was to have a man on air that would swear like that.

And so a media celebrity is born. And of course, very soon, more people come to watch him swear and be rude and other such crowd-pleasing shock tactics rather than to see him cook. And it works, so good for him!

Or at least it worked for him until he accidentally fired a verbal volley at the wrong social programmer.

You see, A Current Affair, hasn't bothered to cover any real news story in a very long time. Most of their stories entail some glorified infomercials dressed up as 'exposés about diet pills thigh creams and shonky car mechanics etc.

And that's not even counting the ridiculous amount of cross-promoting that they air in the name of 'news.'

Well last week, rather than cover the economic crisis and the Australian budget's success, rather than cover the acid attacks on Indian students, instead of covering the truck bombing in Peshawar or how the Federal policies regarding the indigenous population in Northern Territory are fairing, instead of all of these vital and important stories that effect real people's lives, channel 9 instead chose to use up their valuable 20 minutes of prime air time to cover an interview with a famous chef, who just so happens to have a television show on their station.

The interview was tawdry and tedious as most of their tabloid ratings grabs dressed up as 'journalism' are, -it's what happened next that makes this story worthy of any note.

During a cooking show, where Gordon Ramsay performed and did tricks before an admiring audience, Gordon did what he did best and of course let off a series of insults and rude remarks aimed at people in general. He probably picked Tracy Grimshaw as a target because he knew we would know who she is. Anyway, there were some insults hurled in her general direction. Something about how she looked like Miss Piggy, something about her being wide and cold inside like a refrigerator. What is interesting is that his audience chuckles along appreciatively, it is, after all, the very stuff that they paid to see, and the very stuff that Channel 9 exploits to grab ratings by airing his shows and by having Tracy Grimshaw interview him in the first place. Here is what he actually said:

And then, what truly stunned me, was that Tracy Grimshaw, battle hardened, 'serious journalist' Tracy Grimshaw, dared to take up our valuable prime air time that should be devoted to covering serious events in order to respond to his hurtful statements as she was told that you should always 'stand up to bullies.'

This is not the playground Tracy, and you are not 5 years old. He is not a 'bully' he is a guy that's paid by your bosses to be rude, and he does his job well. You on the other had are paid by your bosses to be a journalist. That means you should be presenting the truth objectively and in a professional manner. Neither of which you've demonstrated particularly well.

In short, Gordon Ramsay is very good at what he does. Tracy Grimshaw is not. She violated professional agreements with Gordon Ramsay's staff and, worst of all, used her position as journalist to coerce an emotive response from her viewing public against him.

But then again, this sort of behavior is to be expected by Tracy and her institution of orchestrating public outrage. I call to the witness stand Chasers War on Everything.

'The Chasers War on Everything' is a shock tactics comedy show. They mock everything. Including rules of acceptability. And the other week they made a sketch that parodied the conventions of the sincere charity commercials that tug at the heart-strings. It was an example of black humour in a shock tactics, 'oh my god they went there' kind of way. And here it is:

Enter Make A Wish Foundation, not to be confused with the Starlight Foundation whose logo they ripped off. Make a Wish Foundation were full of righteous indignation that sick little children would be up at 9:30pm and be offended by the skit that could appear to be at their expense. Of course, it wasn't aimed at their expense, any fool could see that, however, a seven year old child in a weakened state due to their illness, and that they should of been put to bed over an hour ago, may not have the social skill to detect such a nuance. And of course, the Chaser's crew apologized for any misunderstandings due to the lack of intelligence of possible viewers. And that may have been the end of it.

But in strides Tracy Grimshaw and the A Current Affairs team, flamng swords blaming with righteous intent, full of emotive phrasing, and tabloid's grabbing outrage. Because nothing sells like sensational condemnation. Suddenly the Chasers War on Everything 'Have Gone too Far'! And that they ought not have made a skit that was insulting to sick children. (which it wasn't aimed at, but lets not let nuance get in the way of a good hate-mongering)

What's interesting then, is that the skit was pulled from any re-runs of the show. AND that the Chaser's War on Everything was suspended for two weeks. Excuse me? A Comedy show was taken off the air? Since when did Australia have the same censorship laws as North Korea?

Now, if they remove the Make a Realistic Wish Foundation skit due to the (perceived) insult to sick children surely they ought to have removed the 'In-breedy Bunch' sketch that was insulting to any victims of incestuous sexual assault, and the Footprints sketch that was insulting to Christians and the one that was insulting to the Cronulla Sharks etc.

Get it? Comedy is, by its very nature either absurd, or based around other people's suffering. That's it. So while we're all about not offending anyone, we might as well outlaw all humor, like Cromwell did when he banned Christmas. And why then is Funniest Home Video's not considered to be the most evil thing on television?

At the end of the day, A Current Affair has lost their direction in regards to journalism and are hoping that the public wont notice by keeping them indignant and outraged at someone, anyone, who may be popular and ratings winning at the time. It could be Germaine Greer, Clare Weberloff, Corey Worthington, The Chaser Boys or Matthew Johns, but basically A Current Affair thrives of orchestrating public outrage and condemnation, for transgressing their 1950's up-tight, humourless, puritanical moral crusade.

We just voted out our conservative government. Lets not be infected by it in our homes through the public indictments of a clearly maniacal Tracy Grimshaw. Lets face it, this is no longer a news show. This is entertainment, kind of like Big Brother because its reporting on 'reality'. So maybe, just maybe the powers that be will consider Tracy to be too old and moralising for her position and she'll be unceremoniously ousted and replaced by Kyle Sandilands and Jacki-O in a short lived new format of A Current Affair.

Circus (N.)

Wherein an excerpt from a creative enterprise is laid out for public perusal,

Greetings and salutations carnies and ballyhooers!

I, considering that my first post was a promise that my blog would contain myself, at least in part, thought, that it was high time to produce a piece of my own creative endeavours. And really, I'm hoping that this may inspire me to write some more.

It is an excerpt from a novel (half-complete) entitled The Carnivalesque, I picked this chapter because it almost stands alone. It is entitled Circus (N.) . Enjoy:

There is a circus inside Mr Abraham Brackets’ mind. It winds its way down the winding road of his cerebellum as he reads the enigmatic poster on the wall. It winds its way from the moor-lands of memory in brightly painted wagons. It parades through his childhood nostalgia with a barrel organ singing crudely like the screech of psirens ready to snare any unsuspecting memories and draw them up into the red canvassed lair.

Mr Abraham Brackets remembers his childhood and the circuses that lay quietly at the edges of the everyday with promises of vivid awe. They lay like festive beach houses. They lay like lions couched amongst the sepia savannah of youth, lapping their paws in the summer heat. There was something ephemeral about them. Something transient, like stumbling upon the fairies dancing. The big top rose and billowed and flourished in scarlet. It was a crazy dance of tent pegs and ropes, it sat squatting on the hillside above Weymouth like a gargantuan spider, -some scarlet hooded tarantula laying in wait amongst the insane web of hemp ropes, dripping the opium venom of childhood delirium.

And the tents were full to the top with carnies who stood invitingly with pied-piper smiles and sailor tattoos. There was something seedy that permeated the air. It was a vibrancy that comes with danger. It was the sense that all natural laws were frozen and here was a land of no consequences, a land where recriminations were the outlaw. They were like fairy-mounds, made of canvas and mist, and when you entered, a magical realm awaited where people flew through the air and animals walked about dressed as humans.

He attended once with his grandfather who seemed to possess more knees and elbows and swollen joints than all the sideshows put together.

“The circus was a place of bloodshed and sacrifice.” His grandfather grumbled darkly in the face of brightly coloured joy as Abraham Brackets, then a young boy, ran giddily to the menagerie.

“It’s a camel grandpa, look. Can I ride it?" His grandfather visibly paled then and walked bitterly away.

“In days of old we’d have slaughtered the animals at the circus, not played with them and ridden them.” The camel grunted and spat at his feet. Abraham Brackets found out by his mother years later that his grandfather embarrassed himself publicly by claiming a dead camel was in fact a dinosaur. -He never recovered from the ridicule. There was something fragile about his grandfather’s just-so well placed wisdoms. It’s funny how one little camel could rob a man of the capacity to enjoy such wild chaotic mirth that occurred in the fairy kingdom of a circus.

And then they were gone. Like fairy palaces that pass into the fog and gypsy caravans, the circus would leap on the caribou of Abraham Brackets’ days and splash it scarlet with fear and euphoria before padding silently away from sight where it licked its coat and slumbered in the African heat. The mountain realm of childhood nirvana had closed, and Abraham Brackets always felt like a frail crippled boy, too young and infirm to join the carnies in their ceaseless festival of wandering.

He always ran up to the hillside to watch the ponderous display of the circus setting up. He always saw the erection of the central pole that rose with wisps of spider silken hemp ropes trailing lazily from its peak like so many ribbons from a maypole. He heard in the fairy dawn-light the coarse gypsy singing of the carnies who worked bare-chested in the sun and dreamed of the loose women they could ensnare. And there was the methodical whistle of pulley wheels and the tapping of tent-pegs like a hail Mary, and lo! Oberon had set up court and visions and fancy was his trade.

But his childhood eagerness failed to alert him of the circus’ conclusion. Was it denial, he wondered, -an unwillingness to let the circus travel like the seasons travel onwards. All he knew was where he had once seen the industriousness of the big top’s set up, where he had been to enjoy the poppy fields within, he was often too late to witness the circus packing up for the road. There was nothing for his boyhood memory to watch, only the dead dusty grass and absence where once there had been a fairy palace and animals in suits served him fairy-wine.

There was something furtive about the way a circus packed up for the road. Something guilty. Something shameful. Setting up was stock and trade for the traveling shows. It was the promise of delight and ephemeral glory and transient joy. It was the budding of magic and free to be viewed by the eager and the young. But the packing up was a dirty behind-the-scenes affair, -a setting up for the village down the road. It was like seeing how a magic trick was performed with little to offer but disappointment. Perhaps that’s why they left so mysteriously, their preparations to leave made in the early-morning darkness, like an illicit affair. The town would awake to find its lusty Babylon lover long gone. They were little more than a guilty memory.

Once, when Mr Abraham Brackets was young and he and his grandfather went to see the circus that had flourished beside the town like a brightly colored infestation of glee, his grandfather, still aching over the demise of his reasoning, mumbled hollowly as they retreated from the menagerie.

“Circus, (ser’kas), (n.): A travelling show of acrobats, clowns horses, riders and wild animals. From the latin word ciculus, for circle. Properly the circular oval or oblong space or structure itself, in which such performances are staged. Contests amongst gladiators, chariot races and other such public spectacles took place in circuses in ancient Rome. The games were held in connection with fixed religious festivals or ludi such as Equirria or the Consualia among others. In remote antiquity the ludi circenses were without close rival as the favorite spectacle of the people: Such were the bloody circus’ genial laws (Byron).”

His grandfather could speak in italics and parenthesis and vocalize an abbreviation as though it were a word in itself. But Abraham Brackets was lost in the fairy glamor already. The barrel organ was singing and anyway it was difficult to hear his grandfather over the clicking of his knees that bent and recoiled in an ungainly dance that reminded him of a camel.

His grandfather sat grim and bitter by the world about him. The spell was powerless against the crushing bruises from the implosion of his ego. Where Abraham Brackets saw joy, his grandfather saw a gladiatorial ring. Where Abraham Brackets saw frivolity, his grandfather viewed carnage. He resided within his own leather clad hell which consisted of sword points and slaughtered animals and ave Caesars and a shrieking mob.

“Let’s see Anne Boleyn, the mermaid of Sardinia.” Said Abraham Brackets.

“There is no such thing.”

“How do you know, grandfather?”

“Because life would be wonderful if there was, son.”

How to argue in the face of such all encompassing depression? But they entered the sideshow anyway. -And there, in a tank full of water, floated a flame haired beauty with milk white skin and jade for eyes and the the most obviously fake mermaid tale ever to grace a den of hucksters.

“Told you son. She’s a fake.”

“I beg your pardon sir, but I am real.” Countered Anne Boleyn.

“Your tail’s a fake.”

“It is. But I am real.”

She stood up in the gaily colored tank.

She removed her tail.

And grandfather’s eyes glistened with the wonder of it all. For a minute the sounds outside the tents, the chattering, the giggles, the ballyhooing of the clowns outside, the hollow grinding of the fairground organ, all the sounds bled white and silent. And all Abraham Brackets could hear was the lapping of the water in Anne Boleyn’s tank and the short pained breaths of his transfixed grandfather, ensnared by a glamor.

“Do you sing?” He asked.

“Very well.” She countered, as open and honest as still water is honest.

“Do you swim?” Asked Anne Boleyn.

“Passably.” Answered his grandfather.

“Swim with me. Tonight. Not here. By the beach. I’ll show you where the mermaids are.”

“Will you sing for me?”

She sang for him then with a voice like brandy butter. And his grandfather, his bitter, camel hating grandfather wept. Tears streamed from his academic dusty old eyes and glistened in tracks on the side of his face. Something happened to him then as the salt water passed over his lips to his tongue. There was a softening to him, a soothing of all the angles in him. His shoulders dropped with the ease of it all, he lost the extra joints in his limbs, his skin seemed translucent and the ruler straight line that was his mouth curved enticingly into a smile.

Anne Boleyn was a Lady of the Lake in a carnival sideshow and to Abraham Brackets’ boyhood eyes she presided over the fountain of youth. The song ceased with its rich amber tones but continued to curl away at the edges of Abraham Brackets’ memory.

“Will you swim with me?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll show you where the mermaids swim.”

They left the tent in a daze with his grandfather grinning with a spring in his step.

“What was that song that she sang”

“It was French. From Carmen:

‘Toréador, en garde

Et song en combattant

Qu’un oeil noir te regarde

Et que l’amour t’attend.’”

“What did she sing?”

“It means:

‘Toreador, ‘e’er watchful be

Do not forget the brightest of eyes

Are fondly thee waiting,

And love is the prize.’”

“Can we go back and ride the camels?”

“We can do whatever you like.”

The next day the circus disappeared and with it disappeared Mr Abraham Bracket’s grandfather. The police were called to look for him, but no one believed an eight year old’s claim that his grandfather had fallen in love with a mermaid and had run off with the circus.

There was dust by the road and the half heard memories of pleasures partaken. The air was pregnant with the ache of morning-after joys. The traveling show had long gone. Oberon and entourage had moved back to India, perhaps to steal other young boys or old brittle men who are overcome with the epiphany of a mermaid’s song.

But Mr Abraham Brackets recalls fiercely the curve of his grandfather’s smile and still to this day travels to the hillside to watch the circus setup, and races at dawn to try and catch its departure. He is yet to be successful though and is left to peer short-sightedly at the diminished half-imagined grainy specks of wagons and fairy dust. And he wonders what if he were carried away to that fairy realm forever, would he see his grandfather, would he return sixty years later as though only a week had passed? Mr Abraham Brackets plays the heartening game of what-if. -And for this little beach-house coloured mystery in his everyday life, he is glad.