History hazards of the countryside

I’m reminded of the old Punch cartoon with two city gentlemen in a coach on the way to a country weekend. One fop is saying: “The countryside is truly rural hereabouts.” And so it is in my Mia Mia retreat, and there is something about country people I really connect with; not well mind you, but I enjoy it.

Part of the secret is not to be a city smartarse, don’t be telling the locals how they should do things or what they should think. Oh! and it helps to keep yourself to yourself and not be nosy. I generally fail miserably at all those things. Despite the failings I seem to have connected remarkably well in this community of 400 or so people.

I ask a lot of questions about the area and its history, just occasionally being asked why I want to know. That one I fouled up last week with the response: I just like to know the ins and outs of a duck’s bum! I suspect from the look I received word will be out this week that I am a government spy or worse. It was ever thus.

In fact these people have been living their myths for generations and resent being called to account for consistency of detail. Indeed, the issue I was addressing was the identification of remains of an old brick hut on our property. The city owners insist it was an exotic tale of land claim jumping by a Henry Munro, the locals say it was a bloke named Harrison or Thompson… the names go on, in the 1940s or 50s.

The city folk are less than delighted when I show Munro was not the occupant, the locals are cautious to stick with a broad suggestion and avoid actual detail. With all that, my nosy probing and other misdemeanors, it seems I am accepted. Having walked to the pub (above) on Saturday, a good uphill hike, I sat with my paper and was reading about the late JD Salinger. I will copy in part the comment I posted on Ragebot in response to Kvatch’s post:

“You read, did you read Salinger?” Well yes, but I thought it was pretty ordinary. Now Kerouak… “Who?” The thing about Salinger is that his name and the book are known – vaguely. One of the bar supports said, “of course he was involved in killing Kennedy – that bloke had his book!” In fact it was the bloke who killed John Lennon was carrying the book. Another corner of the bar offered that he, JDS, was only a Pom after all. It turned out he was confusing another ‘seminal’ text and author, Lady Chatterley’s Lover – D. H. Lawrence.

I forget that oral history is still alive and well, along with it’s social taboos like insisting on consistency and specifics. It is more about keeping the local myths alive and presumably they have their own point for the initiated. So now I’m nervous of asking questions about the photo of the rail. Well I should ask in Kyneton anyway, it is their railway station..

Kyneton is about 25 Km up the Campaspe River which flows, or puddles, near my abode. The town began before the gold rush and became a sort of staging post and supply depot, and rail was part of infrastructure expansion in the fledgling colony. What fascinated me was the well picked section of railway line carrying the mark – V.R. KRUPP 1889. The VR is clearly Victorian Railways, and the KRUPP that German steel maker famous for armaments through many conflicts up to WWII.

The Kyneton – Redesdale area were not big producers of gold as their neighbouring districts were, and have been largely ignored by researchers. I suspect that is changing on some fronts. Aspects like the railways, including the one which used to run to Redesdale, will be well recorded, but I wish them well on collecting the real local history.

Can’t escape bureaucratic bungling

With only a cell (mobile) phone and small radio to keep me in touch I thought I might become less of a carping critic of issues concerning poor governance. No so when you live in a sparsely populated region still in trauma from the bushfires of last February.

Doubtless I am a I though heading into the wilderness, beyond the communications systems we now take for granted, would at least shield me from the knowledge of political and bureaucratic. That was a vain hope, particularly in a region still in

With high temperatures and strong winds hitting my wilderness I am receiving a stream of confusing warnings on fire dangers. The warnings are so confusing the ABC (radio) presenters are constantly seeking clarifications from the Bureau of Meteorology (BOM), the Country Fire Authority (CFA) and the Department of Sustainability and Environment (DSE).

Given the tragic circumstances of previous bushfire seasons, and the pasting authorities have endured through various hearings and inquiries, there is enormous pressure to solve problems of mitigating disasters. Unfortunately it falls to the wrong people in the case of CFA and DSE. Rather than look to the local knowledge of a committed volunteer base it is those who only know the assurance of a pay packet who are dealing with this.

The major issue, in the restructuring of a fire response system, is basic communications. CFA and DSE seem so tied up in their own entrenched language and systems they seem unable to put together A simple set of plans which will work across this relatively small Australian state. Part of the problem is their refusal to listen to those who really understand the territory.

Mapping the issues

BOM has a great reputation with weather districts based on consistently similar patterns. There accuracy, while largely speculative or ‘educated guess’, is well respected. The fire authorities base their maps on multiple municipal boundaries, which are large areas with some dramatic climactic variations.

In my case it is doubly confusing because I live on the edge of the North Eastern Fire District, which extends from central Victoria to the Pacific Ocean. Across the road (pictured above) is the North Western District extending across to South Australia. All last week my district was on the edge of ‘code red’ fire danger, we will get to the various codes, then Saturday the danger swung to the North Western district.

The crazy part of that is where this apparent barrier has been created both sides of the road are tinder dry and any activity likely to set of a fire would only be undertaken by a malicious individual or a dullard unaware of the danger. The problem for my neighbours, and more so for my radio presenters, is the difficulty in focusing in on potential crisis points. As some commentators have noted, there is a danger, after a few panics, of the ‘boy who cried wolf’ syndrome.

Confusing codes

So the CFA and DSE bureaucracies went further than ignoring the well established district regimes of BOM, but also decided to change the old, and understood, fire rating system for a new and confusing model. (see pic) They probably only need low – high – code red, but even with that they have communications problems. It will not be code red across the massive area they are reporting it.

The trouble Coupled with those unwieldy fire reporting districts the new codes simply deepen the confusion on the ground. Now on the ground is just where the local volunteer fire fighters are and there workload is already heavy from using their local knowledge and concern to spot real problems before they happen. That isn’t always possible, but we would already be in deep trouble without their efforts.

So each time code reds have been declared and the worst outcome wasn’t achieved did the authorities clap and cheer a successful operation? No, they blamed BOM who they rely on for their weather predictions. They are bloody crazy. A code red is a message to take special care about fire risk, if people listened then it achieved it’s purpose. But the bureaucrats are obviously focused on a different reality to the rest of us.

Perspectives on racism

The issue of racism has come to the fore again in Australia after another senseless murder of an India student in Melbourne, scene of an increasing number of such incidents. The issue has been exacerbated by State and Federal governments going into denial about the race aspects; rather they claim that it really is just senseless violence.

Indians are 2½ times more at risk of attack than other Melburnians, but the reasons are complicated, writes Dylan Welch SMH. Barkly Street stretches long and dark in both directions. On a quiet Wednesday evening, several pairs of Indian men confer in Hindi under the neon lights of half-empty Indian restaurants. In a nearby side street in the western Melbourne suburb of Footscray West, unsmiling African teenagers mill about a darkened bus shelter.

Not denying racism and other bigotry, I would argue that in itself these unworthy notions are not often translated to violence; at least not violence against those hated. But yes, it does happen. My own father, like many of his contemporaries bought up under the strict ‘white Australia’ policy was a rabid racist. As with many bullies, for his targets he reserved verbal abuse, the frustrated violence was more likely visited on his family.

I could never understand his attitude. My school mates and indeed some memorable ‘crushes’ were generally from strange countries, strange to me at that time, with a kaleidoscope of languages and accents thrown in. The irony with my father, who had very few friends in his life, was a late devotion to a Korean family to whom he became a loving, surrogate grandfather figure.

What I did observe, growing up and later, is that these immigrant folk would often be the most vocal in their racial hatred. Having gained their safe place in a new society it seemed right to attack the next wave. It is difficult to ignore a violent push in Sydney by young Lebanese, intent on taking over the low level criminal activities. That is not racist, but simple fact. It is a fact which tends to drive bigotry.

IN BC Canada, home to a swelling population of Indian and Chinese immigrants, the story is much the same. Ethnic criminal activity drives some of the problem; a culture of very low paid farm workers finishes it off. It is not uncommon for Europeans locals to cheer each time an overloaded ‘Paki bus’ turns over in a ditch killing workers on board. And this from some of the kindest folk I’ve ever met.

India itself is rife with racial and sectarian violence according to news headlines, though often vehemently denied. There was recent talk of Britain pulling out of the Commonwealth Games in Delhi later this year over security threats. The reality clearly shows numerous sectarian and racial tensions through that vast population, but equally a majority who crave peaceful coexistence; as is the case in Australia and Canada.

Great for grandstanding; but understanding?

Indian students are ''soft targets''. They are ''walking ATMs'' carrying mobile phones, iPods and jewellery as they travel on public transport between university and late-night work shifts. SMH

Yet in all of this verbal shorthand becomes a real issues, whole societies become labeled because the real issues a rarely defined accurately. Put another, worst social responses are generally encouraged, unwittingly perhaps, by the perceived needs of politicians and media to make a quick impact. Immediacy driven comment is clearly an inadequate way of dealing with complex social issues.

In Australia the vast over-reaction by politicians and media to ‘boat people’ and a nebulous ‘war on terror’ drives a distrust of any different looking or speaking people. But that over-reaction is typified by three second sound bites and shock jock media responses; great for grandstanding, not so great for understanding.

Prejudice is alive and well, and generally encouraged. It might simply be city Vs city, or country and city, even suburb to suburb, town to town. Partly that reflects a competitive spirit, but can easily fall over into an ignorant, unthinking reaction. The violence is real enough in our societies an always has been; but is it really about bigotry or is it about a relative few insecure, angry, hateful people who want to lash out?

Footnote: I have often wondered if the epithet ‘Whitey’ used against Australians by Asians is not a product of the old White Australia policy. That is long gone now, but prejudice tends to have a long memory. Regardless of historical relevance the mindless name calling is sure to fuel continuing antagonism.

A rural reflection

If that sounds boring, life in rural isolation has been anything but. The area of north central Victoria suffered in last February’s bushfires, so we are all nervous now as the bushfire season is back with us. I don’t have naming rights to the four acre block, but am tempted to go with the Fishbowl, as the surrounding community is watching for each improvement made.

A close second is Stone Farm. Part of my Christmas reading covered the story of Charles Darwin and his son Horace investigating the power of earthworms by placing a stone on the ground and watching it sink by about 2 mm per year. Apparently that experiment is still being monitored at Down House near London. Well if Charles had gone to Stone Farm he could watch as stones rose out of the red clay, volcanic earth.

I’ve had two major tasks to occupy my time on Stone Farm. Given the extreme fire danger hereabouts, particularly grass and stubble fires, there has been an immediate need to slash back the wild, ungrazed pasture around the house at least. Then the robbery late last year, including generators and water pump prompted the need to at least make a work in progress look like an occupied property – like paint the house!

Since Christmas the weather has been against both those operations. Either/or very hot with low humidity and extremely windy. With the painting it was a simple issue, either the paint was drying on the brush or I was blown off the ladder. The danger of slashing is the blades hitting rocks and other debris and sparking a fire. The kanga pic (note the numerous bullet holes) above is an old road sign, found lying under the rampant grass.

Too much excitement

Normally, if I feel the need for company I’ll do the mountain treck to the pub, a stiff climb 20 minutes away, enough to moderate all but the direst needs. However, over the New Year period I seemed to have a stream of drop ins, none carrying a cheering bottle mind. Among them was a motor bike cop who patrols the area. The Bendigo cops cover something like 3000 square kilometres, or it last the major roads.

It seems the heifers I had been watching, in a paddock across the road, had decided the grass was greener on the other side of the fence – and it indeed was. Said cop was looking for the owner, or at least someone to keep a watch out. The road had been busy all day, including holiday bikers. He was concerned that with shark corners and a steep hill (either end of my boundaries) it was a potentially fatal situation to have cows wandering the road.

So I became lookout, then later in the afternoon rounded a bunch of cows off the road and led them up the lane looking for their home. Well all the gates were padlocked and with ‘beware of dogs’ signs, so I left them a fair way up to find their way home. Then a Vic Roads patrol contractor came by. He pushed then back up the lane, honking the whole way, then saw me and drove in to find out where they belonged. I’unno!

Now with the police and the roads authority in my ear I was keeping a close watch. It was a potentially serious situation. Just on dusk the next day the whole herd of two dozen cows all wandered out onto the road. I was told to call the emergency number 000, but with poor cell phone reception, running up and down shooing them off the road and warning drivers I didn’t get far. Finally I called my son in Melbourne and he talked to the police in Bendigo.

By the time a council ranger arrived an hour later I had 18 of the heifers locked in my yard, eating the fresh, well watered plantings rather than the abundant dry pasture grass. He found the other six just as the owner turned up, raging angry. Well I was too at that stage, but he didn’t clobber me when I refused access to my place until he’d talked to the ranger he’d brushed aside.

The kangaroo sign seemed apposite in all this; it was not posted to protect the poor roos, the which we have many grazing our block, but to protect unsuspecting drivers on a dangerous piece of road. I don’t know who shot it up or when, but that act was as delinquent as allowing cattle to stray on a busy road.

Ownership and possession

I was still sitting out at midnight, on a glorious night, winding down from all this and listening to the conversation as temporary fence were underway. The comment which floored me was a loud “well we mustn’t upset the neighbours. Never mind that I was biting my tongue with the owners only comment “I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at the cows!” Like maintaining fences was the lot of these poor heifers.

Sure I’m just a city bloke, but I thought I did well to move ¾ of the herd, on a dark night, into my yard without harm to them or me. In fact two I missed nudged me in the back so they could get in as well. Perhaps I’m better with animals than with people.

Whatever, I’m no Marxist, but I do have issues over ownership perhaps different from those Karl expressed. The fact is, if regardless of how you on something, a gift, theft or earned, it will keep on demanding from you. Ownership comes with a multitude of obligations. Possession is something you never stop paying for.

In this instance I could have been sensitive to my outsider status, but I still own my conscience. It would have troubled me if one of those animals had been hit by a car if I did not act. Even though I had no legal culpability if I did not at it would have troubled me more justifying to someone’s loved ones my inaction. My sense of ownership is more about my intellect and a sense of understanding social values.

The cost here was to act on those social values, even when they were clearly opposed to my new neighbours. I expect I have partly resolved the tensions since, but only on a clear understanding that I would do the same thing again. Or perhaps the wilderness is not really the place for me…

The right won, a great day!

What would Robert Menzies make of this day? Three Catholics, fighting over the ruins of his Liberal Party. Annabel Crabb ABC

Obviously Australia’s public are more concerned about the need for climate change mitigation than our politicians are. The circus of the Liberal Party leadership battle crossed an indistinct range from supporting the Rudd governments ineffective Emissions Trading Scheme (ETS) to opposing any action at all. The sad bottom line is that the by-play rules out any substantive debate on effective approaches to climate change potential.

The deposed leader, Malcolm Turnbull, was in favour of an agreed watered down version of a watery approach. The Liberal right (define right as self serving bastards) candidate was the generally despised Tony Abbot. In the middle is aspiring, but not just yet, leader Joe Hockey. I don’t like Turnbull particularly, but for the Liberals, any other choice spells disaster at the polls.

So have a look at the style of our new opposition leader: At a meeting with right wing brokers and Joe Hockey, designed to place him as their compromise candidate, Hockey refused to go full on anti climate control. Abbott eventually lost his temper.

"So," he summarised bitterly. "Malcolm Turnbull's for the ETS. I'm against the ETS. And Joe - nobody knows what the f**k you stand for." What he meant is that you are not firmly supporting our stance.

A sweet sweet day

I should explain why, as a progressive, I should delight in the vicious, self serving extremists should take control of the Liberal Party. In my youth I was attracted to the Liberal philosophy, or to be more exact, Keynesianism and social democracy.

Being very active in the party during the 1970s I found most of my effort was fighting against the incursion of the extreme right in the party, alliances with outfits like the John Birch Society and others. We fought hard and produced party rules to stop dual memberships, but in the end that only drove the obvious underground and these people did dominate; the dream being realised by the slimy toad John Howard.

I expect my actions back then would not have made a difference, but things have changed again now. Let them show their true colours, let the electorate see them for what they are. I would have given Joe Hockey until April, had he won, to be knifed by the right. Had Turnbull won he would probably have gone by late Feb. But these leaves wonderful opportunities for the government.

Kevin Rudd has stayed right out of this circus, but I expect he will use the Liberal climate change rejection in the Senate to trigger a wonderful local political coup know as the ‘double dissolution’. That means calling an election where both houses and all senators must face re-election. Almost certainly, under Tony Abbot, the Liberals will be gutted at an election. Not destroyed, but I suspect an almost surgical removal or the right. Fortunately the Greens will probably pick up some of the Senate positions, but not enough to drive real change.

Well politics is, in the end, about compromise and with hope we’ll pick up a parliament ready to move forward at least. My personal revenge will be to see the extremist element (I don’t really accept that we have philosophical conservatives here) dumped from public office and real liberals allowed to return to the party intended by Menzies.

With that I’m heading back to the bush and a news void.

Adventures in the wilderness

The occasional wilderness experience is great for the soul, and while Mia Mia in the Bendigo district of Victoria might not be the end of the earth I have been enjoying periods of splendid isolation tending to a small property owned by my son and his partner.

When I first arrived at the place a month ago it was to find thieves believed they had a better use for items like the generator, the only power source, and water pump plus whatever they could carry off. They left the gas cylinders, fortunately so I’m not completely without creature comforts and don’t object to working my day around available light or enjoying the solitude of the stars.

So there are few real hardships, many fascinating features and lots of work to be done with a few basic tools. With the bush fires, in February this year, still fresh in everyone’s minds the first task has been to clear the tall spring grass from around the house; with the promise of an old slasher mower suggesting a good bit more clearing. The fires menaced the surrounding area, but were not as bad as elsewhere in the state. I believe I will be supplied with some cans of paint, so the picture of the cottage can be regarded as a ‘before’ shot for now.

The picture of the historic Mia Mia iron lattice bridge just shows the start of the property in the top left hand corner. Mia Mia and Redesdale are what might be called ‘non-nucleated hamlets’. That is they are mainly farms with Redesdale at least having a shop/service station and the historic pub. As far as I know Mia Mia has a recreation hall and little else.

The cottage is near the old Burke and Wills trail, with a number of consequent historic features. On this small property, for example, are the remains of Victoria’s first squatters cottage. There is not much to be seen under the old peppercorn tree, but there remains a rough paved area outside the huts foundations. It is believe Henry Munro was a bit precipitous in claiming his land and was soon moved on to the land actually allotted to him.

The colour

The pub, of course, has it’s own colourful past – and present. The young (by my measure)

owner, James, is doing a great job turning the old bluestone structure into a delightful oasis. Jamesis very much a family man, a fact reflected in the way the Redesdale Tavern is run. The bar area is quite small, but big enough to boast a visit from Ned Kelly. Apparently Ned charmed the locals in the bar, buying them drinks, then stole a couple of horses tethered outside.

It is a 25 minute walk to the pub, up a 1:10 hill, so any temptation is moderated be the effort of getting there. Still, on some days when the temperature has hit 40c, despite the heat the call of a cold beer was strong. Most of the ‘locals’ seem to be ‘blow ins’ like me but a genuine local character I met is Peter Rabbit, one of the countries last professional rabbiters.

It made me muse that my mother use to pay 2/6d for a pair of bunnies hanging skun and naked in the open air. Peter says his pairs must be prepared in approved conditions and hermetically sealed a chilled. Sort of takes the ‘romance’ out of the old trade, but then the restaurants pay far for than my mother did for a pair, even considering inflation. Now I know I often hear Peter’s .22 during the night and early morning.

Joys of isolation

Knowing there would be no power, at least until the insurance replace the generator, and against all my prejudices, I invested in a cell phone. Even if I could plug my computer in there is little hope of connecting to the internet. At the same time I rejected the so called comfort of a battery radio; the idea of that inane chatter breaking the peace was far too much to contemplate.

The thought occurs, at times, that the world could end and I wouldn’t hear about it unless someone sent an SMS. In fact my son did send a couple of messages regarding the Federal Liberal Party antics this week so I wandered to the pub to get the story. It was almost a joy to find that no one there knew or cared about the political circus.

I occasionally miss the ability to blog at will, and often don’t have the energy or even story when I get back to Melbourne. In fact just coming back into the city I’m yearning to be out on the block chipping weeds and saplings or moving dirt and rocks. Even the weekend paper has sat untouched this week, though I have a few days to get enthusiastic. Then I hope it is off to the block again to be sworn at by the cockatoos for invading their territory.

Accentuate the Positive Eliminate the Agnotology

My word of the week is agnotology, defined as the study of fear and doubt. Apparently some in the IT world prefer FUD (Fear Uncertainty Doubt) but I always prefer a word to an acronym. The word came up in a discussion on the practices of big corporations, bit coincided with my personal musings on the prevalence of negative attitudes.

Doubtless there is a lot in this world to be negative about, if that is your bent. More so when we can identify whole industries intent on spreading alarm and consternation to cover unsavoury messages; in this league I of course include politics. But let’s not forget industry and land development, or in Australia, the fight to control precious water resources. Let us not avoid the deliberate misinformation attending the climate change debate.

They are some of the big issues, my interest in examining all of this is how and why it plays out at an individual level. Just from personal observation it would seem that a majority tend to adopt and magnify the negatives in life. I just don’t really understand why negativity should be so popular when it is clearly limiting and debilitating.

Out of all the adults I know I could probably name just five or six who don’t consider themselves to be victims at some level, the most profoundly victimised being able to recount a daily list of ‘I’ve been screwed again’ episodes. In fact, the condition seems to have the ability to self generate, and I presume provide some kind of perverse pleasure. After all, we humans tend to seek pleasure from our activities.

For many years I was dismissed with accusations of just being a ‘Pollyanna’, a condition which apparently victimised those negative people in my orbit, so I was told. Personally I find it a real joy to interact with others of my ilk, those who would dismiss adversity in the belief that regardless of negatives there are always positives to dwell on.

True there are notable conditions which aid negative thought, such as depression. I was recently moved by the words of a prominent Melbourne doctor and writer who observed; no doubt from personal reflection: ‘depression is the in fact a lack of joy’. Simplistic to be sure, and no sure fire remedy, but in many cases I agree with that summary.

There are numerous reasons for us to lack joy, however many seem so trivial in reality and appear to me more an excuse to wallow in that sticky slough of despond, the ‘black dog’ as the Aussie depression commentators would have it. Any innate tendencies to negativity are surely fed by socially generated negativity designed for commercial/political advantage.

Long experience suggests that trying to convert negative thought is a losing game, so we just have to learn to live with each other. In certainly don’t have to knowledge or skills to intercede effectively, but equally will refuse to be sucked in myself. I doubt the old song, still current in my early days – Accentuate the Positive – had any effect in itself, but it still expresses a core belief.

America Trapped In Dogma Cycle

As a progressive it is easy to agree with the thrust of filmmaker Michael Moore’s stand on the many issues he addresses. The problem is not the issues but the dogged styles which allows no dialogue, simply polarizing and driving a wedge through society. I guess, as an Australian, that is easy to say as our governance is far more progressive; robust, but open to discourse.

Not to say Australia is devoid of debate, but arguments tend to be tribal (partisan) rather than substantive. Even the most contentious issues, such as the current climate change debate, are to a great degree about point scoring with just a conservative rump fully opposed to any remedial legislation.

Barack Obama, Year 1: Reality takes its toll on 'Yes We Can' optimism

We hear, outside America, much comment on that countries disappointment with the performance of President Obama, commentary encouraged by the likes of Moore: Michael Moore On Charlie Rose Gives Obama a Deadline for Fulfilling His ... Certainly I agree that there is urgent need for reforms on many fronts, but Obama never promised o one man miracle set; rather he made it clear that he needed the active cooperation of the American people.

It seems the old divisive ways, coupled with impatience and an unwillingness to engage is more likely to derail any real and immediate reforms. However politics, it is often said, is the art of compromise and certainly should include wide social engagement. Those standing in the way of the Obama plan only do so because they are allowed to by the American people.

Moore’s approach seems to create more discontent rather than galvanizing action, perhaps consistent with the way things are done in America. But taking a firm line on any issue, particularly an aggressive line which precludes dialogue is rarely helpful. Moore himself confesses to frustration at the lack of action, yet his method appears to encourage it.

I speak here from a long and curious background. I regard myself as a moderate, middle of the road sort of person, able to listen and discuss issues. Indeed, in North America I was accused of being a socialist, but regard that charge as a linguistic failing rather than a political reality. For some frustrating reason I’ve always found myself bonding more with people on the right of the political spectrum, even when I am arguing against their position.

Perhaps it just comes down to a mutual respect for those who are willing to discuss with opponents rather than simply attack and berate. If we are going to effect change for good in any society, mutual respect must be the firm foundation. Obama has shown that ability and it seems destructive to attack him for it after the fact. He can only succeed in starting on the road to change with the support of a significant number of voters.

The first step is learning to play the ball rather than the man. Give some respect to anyone who holds an opinion, and be ready to argue alternatives without demonizing the person. It is a gradual approach, but in reality society only changes for the better in gradual steps. In Australia, those who hold onto extreme and negative approaches in politics soon become the butt of humour. Better to laugh at the enemy than adopt their methods.

If Americans truly want change then it must happen at the level of individual. Not so much in activism as attitude or sentiment. Because like it’s sibling economics politics is driven by sentiment and dogma is the real enemy.