THE WAY WE LIVE NOW


 In the 1950s Sir John Betjeman wrote some verses called “How to get on in society”. They were intended as a contribution to the then current debate over “U” versus “non-U” speech (“U” being upper-class and “non-U” non-upper-class) and were published in Noblesse Oblige, a collection of essays edited by Nancy Mitford (Hamish Hamilton, London, 1956). One object of the poem was to challenge readers to pick out the “non-U” genteelisms and circumlocutions satirised in Betjeman’s lines.

We no longer have (if we ever had) that kind of class-based linguistic demarcation in this country but we do have wide variations in vocabulary and usage related to age, education and other factors. Here, with a title borrowed from Anthony Trollope, are some verses I have tried to compose in the Betjeman spirit for our own time and place.

__________________________


I’m sorry your partner has passed, Dad,
Though I guess it’ll come to us all.
Her farewell send-off at the yacht club
Was great and we all had a ball.

We shouldn’t have laughed when the ashes
Blew back in the celebrant’s face
And Jarrod had too much Jack Daniels
And wanted to trash the whole place.

You were both a fantastic fun couple
How long is it now since you met?
Was it when you took Melanie’s schnauzer
To have his teeth cleaned at the vet?

It was sad on the day that you left, Dad.
But you fell out of love, as you say
And Mum got the condo in Brighton
So maybe it’s better that way.

I related to Val as a person
Though she was ages older than I
(When she said we could pass as twin sisters
“In your dreams,” I just thought in reply.)

She enjoyed a nice chilled Tassie chardy
Though it made her too loud, you once said,
Like the time she got wasted at Chrissie
And had to lay down on my bed.

And she said, “F*ck the stupid Kris Kringle”
And gave you a slap in the street.
And with next door and everyone watching
She got doggy poo on her feet.

Your speech made me come over weepy,
But how come the slide show fell flat?
Who was it that scanned the wrong photos?
You should ask for a discount for that.

I tweeted the date to the guys, natch,
And texted an invite to Mum,
But she said she’d be packing for Bali
So wouldn’t be able to come.

Fair enough, since she’s still really hurting
And needs some more time to move on.
Her counsellor’s great, he said closure
Would come once her anger had gone.

He’s going to Bali as well, ‘cos
He said she just needs TLC.
Mum’s paid megabucks for a penthouse
With a plunge pool and views out to sea.

Maybe you and her should consider
Becoming an item again.
I read sex can be great in your sixties,
(If there aren’t any problems by then).

You wouldn’t believe what has happened
I’ve had my share of tragedy too.
Some stupid Chinese in the car park
At Safeways, who hadn’t a clue

About driving this great black Range Rover
(don’t they say that their eyesight is poor?)
Backed into the Golf with her tow-bar
And left a great dent in the door.

I don’t want to sound like a racist,
Oh my God, you must know how I feel.
How could someone like her get a licence?
She could hardly see over the wheel!

I needed a coffee to calm me
And somewhere to sit down and chill.
Do you think I could locate my smartcard
When the waitperson gave me the bill?

There were power cuts at home when I got there
And I couldn’t turn on MKR.
And the prawns in the fridge I was thawing
Had leaked on the Chobani jar.

And then there are issues with Gary,
I love him of course, he’s a doll.
But since he moved in last December
His mood swings are out of control.

The chemist down near the train station
Said Ativan’s well worth a trial
But Gary won’t see the GP, his
Default mode is total denial.

My Master's is on the back burner
Potentially I'd get Haitch 2B
But how can I spend time at uni
When Gary won't get up till three?

I tell you, I just do not need this,
I know how Mum feels, you too Dad
It’s like Someone up there doesn’t like me,
But I’ve never done anything bad.

Still, there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
The life coach I’ve started to see
Says I worry too much about others
When I need to prioritise me.

So I won’t be in touch for a while, Dad
I know being alone must be hell
But the negative vibes of your grieving
Could impact my headspace as well.

Published in Quadrant May 2017

LICENSING OUR LIVES


 With Big Government getting bigger, more revenue is needed.

 Anyone who’s ever stepped out on to a crossing with the green light and come within a hair’s breadth of being mown down by a Lycra-clad iridescent blur rocketing through against the red will surely welcome a Victorian suggestion, in the wake of a fatal accident, that cyclists should be obliged to have a licence the way car drivers are. Lovers of Big Government will like the idea too.

Maniac cyclists can be as terrifying as maniac drivers, in fact more so, because cars generally stick to the road whereas the fanatical cyclist rides anywhere – pavements, parks and any public space (except for designated bike lanes, which many find too restrictive). Otherwise it’s a moot point which is the more fearsome: the psycho tailgating you at 100 in the souped-up ute, or a phalanx of cyclists, heads down grimly over the handlebars, uncallipygous bottoms in the air, swarming along unrestrained by road rules, traffic or pedestrians. That the cyclists smugly suppose themselves to be respecting the environment compounds the offence.

But why should a licence make a cyclist act any more responsibly than a motorist, whose licence all too evidently does not guarantee careful driving? The answer is it won’t; and yet that doesn’t invalidate the idea. Bike licences mightn’t make us safer but they do have something which enthusiasts for Big Government can seize on: a potential for raising revenue.

Greens won’t be keen on that idea. They idolise the bicycle – it is the Golden Calf they don multi-hued priestly raiment to worship – and any impost on its use would be anathema to them, though there could be a bit of a tussle here with the Green instinct for regulating everything. But in more pragmatic circles, where ideology is trumped by expansionist cupidity – specifically among collectors of revenue at any of the three levels of our over-governed existence – the potential of bike licences as money-spinners will not be sneezed at. According to census figures, there are more than 3.6 million cyclists in Australia who can be made to pay up.

Governments and the bureaucracies of public “servants” that run our lives love finding new ways to raise revenue, not so much for any material improvements that will benefit the citizens whose cash they are appropriating but because they can use the money to employ more bureaucrats. This is particularly important at a time like this, with the prospect of China “slowing down” and the consequent spectre of lessened prosperity and increased unemployment. No government wants to see unemployment figures rising. But when jobs that involve real work become scarcer, the figures can be kept looking good by additional employment in the public sector. This has already happened over the last two decades with the disappearance of local manufacturing. People who would formerly have found work on assembly lines were accommodated in specially expanded universities where they were given degrees in climate change and gender studies before being absorbed into the ranks of the bureaucracy.

Since even bureaucrats have to have something to do, some nominal duties that they’re ostensibly carrying out, bike licences would be doubly helpful. Not only would the licence fees fund the new bureaucratic jobs, they would provide them with a raison d’être. How many new staff will be required to supervise licence tests? How many desk staff to check applications? How many extra police to issue fines to unlicensed riders? And, as a bonus, how many promotions and salary increments for “additional responsibilities” for the departmental heads in charge?

Of course cyclists’ licences are far from being the only source of potential tax revenue still untapped. Bureaucratic imagination has been a little slack in this regard so let me suggest a few more things that could be licensed to help the organs of Big Government expand their budgets and their empires.

Walking in the street. Restaurant, cafés, two-dollar shops etc. already pay for licences to occupy pavement space, so why shouldn’t pedestrians who further clutter the streets with their useless strolling (and jeopardise the safety of tray-bearing waiters) pay something too?

Kitchen conversations. “Sadly,” laments G. Triggs, “you can say what you like around the kitchen table at home.” Licensing should put a stop to that. Licensing kitchen talk will first require monitoring it, not the easiest thing when you have more than nine million dwelling places to snoop on. But where there’s a will there’s a way and no doubt something can be devised using the domestic TV screen and some kind of NBN-like connection to the Blofeldesque control room at the Human Rights Commission where Gillian, resplendent in her Mrs Slocombe-inspired coiffure, can listen in on family chat, with little Tim and a vastly augmented staff of inquisitors taking notes. Licence fees would be graded according to the degree of “racism”, “Islamophobia” etc. emitted (non-ethnic families living in residential areas favoured by well-off Asian immigrants would pay heavily) and, after a certain number of demerit points, persistent offenders would be delicensed, fined (more revenue) and sentenced to undergo “sensitivity training” in an HRC high-security re-education camp outsourced to Safe Communities, a new subsidiary of Safe Schools. 

Church services. It is a scandal that these are allowed to continue unlicensed and unsupervised in buildings already exempt from rates. Revenue from licensing would pay for inspectors to monitor all Sunday sermons (especially those of “Bible-based” preachers) for “homophobia” and “hate speech” in regard to gay marriage. “Approved” (= Leftist) clerics, such as Father Frank Brennan and just about everyone from the Uniting Church, would be excluded from supervision, as would “culturally protected worship providers” (mosques).

Teachers’ T-shirts. Leftist teachers periodically wear these, emblazoned with modish political slogans. Revenue would be raised not by licensing the wearer but what’s written on him. Currently this is something about welcoming refugees – an admirable thought to proclaim to impressionable young minds, but one that contributes nothing to the public purse. Why not, then, in the manner that our esteemed Special Broadcasting Service runs commercials, subsidise the cost of schools by licensing the space across the teacher’s chest for paid advertising? Instead of “No to Cis-Heteronormativity” the T-shirt could extol the putative merits of things of interest to “kids” and their parents, such as SUVs, glitzy mobiles, overseas holidays, financial consultants and even fast bicycles.

Air consumption. Stand by for breathing to be licensed once the eco-fascists of the Left get the power to reduce the population to a “sustainable” level by means of “mandatory voluntary euthanasia” for “superfluous respirers”, and thus fulfil the old saying that there’s nothing certain in life but death and taxes.

Published on The Spectator Australia "Flat White" site 29 April 2017


STEAL THEIR CLOTHES


 If Leftist dominance of our culture is ever to be overturned, conservatives will have to be less polite.

 The Left now thinks it’s nailed one of the most irritating thorns in its flesh, the flamboyant conservative polemicist Milo Yiannopoulos, whose apparent defence of paedophilia may well mean he’s gone too far for many who have hitherto agreed with him. Those who didn’t were already trying to censor him anyway – like the Sydney bookseller and self-defined ‘passionate believer in free speech’ who had declared in advance, and without knowing what was in it, that he would not stock Yiannopoulos’s forthcoming book Dangerous, before the publishers rained on his parade by cancelling its publication.

The Left loves censorship, as long as it’s on approved grounds. Imagine the shrieks of protest and hisses of “homophobia” if the believer in free speech had said he was banning Milo from his shelves because he disapproved of the writer’s homosexuality. Like the Christian bakers in Northern Ireland who declined to bake a cake for a gay wedding, the bookseller would have found himself crushed beneath an avalanche of vocal, physical and legal harassment until he went out of business. But because his refusal was on the grounds that Yiannopoulos’s ‘far right’ views ‘should not be allowed to take root in our society’, that was quite OK.

Except that it’s not. For where is the conservative outrage? Why is it only the Left that screams and yells and sues and riots until it gets its own way?

The problem with conservatives is that they don’t like making a fuss. It’s not in their temperament. They respect the institutions of our society and trust in them for the righting of social wrongs. I know people of conservative disposition who are unaware that those supposedly impartial institutions have been largely colonised by the Left in the last half-century. There are older, fair-minded people who think that universities are still places for scholarship and debate, as in their youth, rather than for de-platforming and indoctrination in the heresies of gender fluidity and climate catastrophe. I know people who think that the ABC is a reliable voice of truth and that Fairfax newspapers are literate and intended for a ‘respectable’ readership. Younger conservatives are not under these illusions, but they still disdain the politics of mob pressure by which the Left attains and enforces its will. This must change if there is to be any hope of undoing the damage the Left has done to our way of life. Conservatives will have to clench their teeth and play the game the Left’s way.

Leftists are big on boycotts – mainly against Israel these days – so let’s start with bookshops as a target for conservative boycotts. Chances are your local bookshop has a Leftish air with all those copies of Meanjin and Arena hanging near the doorway (but never The Spectator Australia or Quadrant). If it refuses to stock a book, any book on any topic that is legally published, dump it and go to Amazon and tell everyone you know what you’ve done and why. Forget about helping small business. Leftist bookshops with their part-time staff of pimply doctoral students aren’t small business. They’re part of the hegemonic propaganda network conservatives should be striving to dismantle.

There is some progress already. A few years ago I tried to buy a book that had been banished to the Left’s Index Librorum Prohibitorum for not toeing the line on global warming. If I’d asked for hardcore porn I’d have had a less contemptuous refusal from the snooty assistant at the prominent Melbourne booksellers I visited. These same booksellers have now put a peg on their noses and will sell you, as their managing director put it, ‘the likes of’ Andrew Bolt, Keith Windschuttle and in the same breath Mein Kampf’. ‘I don’t believe in censorship,’ he loftily announced. Well not now perhaps. There’s a lot of competition in the book world and somebody’s decided that a dollar’s a dollar, even a tainted conservative one.

Bookshops are a pushover compared with getting fairness out of the ABC, secure in its citadel of taxpayer funding. An economic boycott wouldn’t work because, unlike the bookshops, the ABC gets your money whether you buy its product or not. But a personal boycott might. Conservative politicians, real conservatives, that is, will have to wage this, as can any non-Leftist in the news. They should refuse, categorically, to go on any ABC (or SBS) programme. They should not favour a news crew with so much as a ‘no comment’ and should, above all, never appear on Q&A or 7.30. At the same time they must give other media all the interviews they want. A conservative doesn’t need the ABC to get his views across (fewer than one in four voters watch or listen to the ABC) and he may well gain from being exclusively on the channels most people turn to. But the ABC will certainly lose, because in spite of its palpable distaste for conservatives, it needs them. Leigh Sales can’t go on night after night vacuously grilling only Opposition windbags. Tony Jones might feel uncomfortable directing his trademark interruptions at a Green. Conservative absence would demonstrate the essential irrelevance of the ABC and show that we can all keep ourselves informed without this bloated relic of the pre-war days when the new medium of broadcasting had to be in the hands of the state.

Leftists like to further their agenda by complaining to the Human Rights Commission, one of their pet creations. Conservatives should do the same, in droves, declaring themselves insulted and offended (one night’s ABC viewing should be enough for the truly sensitive) and invoking their rights under Section 18C until the commission’s creaking machinery is clogged. Who cares if the complaints are frivolous? Gillian still has to examine them, in between getting her hair done, and her assessments will take up time she could otherwise be devoting to her sterling work undoing really important injustices like the one inflicted on poor Cindy Prior.

I have hardly scratched the surface. There are lots more tricks the Left routinely uses that conservatives could employ. Everything except violence. Conservatives don’t need to rush into the streets and shout idiotic slogans because they are brighter than the rent-a-Lefty mob and have arguments rooted in human nature instead of wishful thinking. Even so, they shouldn’t fool themselves that emulating Leftist strategy – one thinks of online campaigns such as GetUp! and elaborate Twitter crusades – will not sometimes mean descending to a level of vapidity and even vulgarity that is alien to conservative sensibilities. Sadly, you can’t fight a war in kid gloves, though you can lose one.

Published in The Spectator Australia 25 February 2017

RUING THE DAY


Perhaps critics of Australia Day would prefer that our nation had never been founded.

 Here comes Australia Day again and with it, like professional wailers preceding a Sicilian funeral, the chorus of media penitents in loud condemnation of the brutality of the British in setting an illegal foot on Terra Australis. Every year the cries of guilt and grief reach new heights of lamentation. Yet if these breast-beaters were logically consistent, they’d cash in their frequent-flyer points on a one-way ticket out of the country rather than continue to compound the initial offence by staying on in ‘occupied’ territory. Wrench though it would be to pack up and leave Balmain or North Fitzroy to the descendants of the tribes who dwelt there before 1788 (not in quite the style of those who dwell there now) it would at least prove that those who affect to regret the events that paved the way to their present comfortable existence were serious in wishing to atone for them.

As if. Critics of Australia Day never have the faintest intention of leaving Australia – leave it for a year to take a villa in France or Italy, yes, but not leave it lock, stock and barrel to the heirs of its dispossessed first inhabitants. Of course they feel the pain of indigenous deprivation. They fall over each other to call Australia Day ‘Invasion Day’, and they show their sympathy by reading books about alleged massacres of Aborigines written by historians seething with anger at being white themselves, and they try to remember when ‘Sorry Day’ is and NAIDOC week, and they think that what is happening in the townships is far less shocking than a white government’s intervention, and that of course there should be a new preamble or treaty or whatever, but as to leaving, clearing out, let’s be realistic. There are fantastic restaurants within a short drive and, well, the time wouldn’t be right anyway with Emma accepted for environmental studies and Will in the school’s first eleven and the MTC subscription just renewed. If one feels one ought to do something more, there might be the opportunity of a walk for ‘reconciliation’ or to be ceremonially smoked over at a welcome to country (the only smoking bien-pensants approve of). Isn’t that enough to show genuine contrition?

As to actually getting to know any of the Aborigines whose supposed distress they share, or having an Aboriginal family move in next door, please. Aborigines should stay in the picturesque outback where they fulfil the indispensable function of being a vehicle for guilt-ridden whites to demonstrate, at a safe distance which doesn’t oblige them to make any inconvenient sacrifice, how sorry they are.

Sorrow and empty pieties apart, whose country does the on-message liberal white Australian really, deep in his heart, believe it is anyway? Here’s a clue. In the first flush of white guilt 20 years ago Aborigines were described at ceremonies and on plaques as its ‘traditional owners’. This term has been quietly dropped, in tacit admission of the fact that if governments and councils and individuals were sincere about Aborigines being owners, they’d be logically and morally obliged to hand over the title deeds of most of Australia, including the valuable urban bits. That of course would never do, so just to be safe, ‘traditional owners’, with its implicit acknowledgment of continuing proprietorship, has been craftily changed to ‘traditional custodians’.

It is understandable that an Aboriginal who values his heritage might see Australia Day as no cause for celebration, and not having Aboriginal ancestry I have no entitlement to comment on that. But other Australians who decry the events that began on 26 January 229 years ago should ask themselves a simple question: do they honestly wish that our founding day had never happened?

Is it better that the British settled this country or is it not? An obvious first response is better for whom? – and as I say, it would be perfectly comprehensible for an Aboriginal to answer, ‘not for us’, even if it’s hard to argue that indigenous Australians gained nothing from white settlement. For a start there’s access to education and medicine for those who want it. And LED television and smartphones, for what they’re worth.

But better for an Australian of Anglo, European or other non-Aboriginal descent? Can all those Fairfax editorialists and Twitter sages who will shortly be sounding off in ritual deploration of ‘Invasion Day’ honestly say that for them, personally, it would have been preferable if the First Fleet and subsequent settlers had never come here? Can they not admit that the dispossession of the Aboriginal population was the price of the Australia in which they themselves live their privileged lives? There was no painless way European civilisation was going to establish itself in a new territory, and plenty of colonisations that were much more painful.

Invasions (and let’s stretch a point and concede that Australia was in a sense invaded) are not necessarily negative. Some invasions bring benefits as well. If the German invasion of Russia was an unmitigated evil, the Allied invasion of occupied Europe was a blessing. For an invasion to be seen as historically justifiable must depend on, in addition to your cultural and national standpoint, its long-term effects. Was the Norman Conquest a good thing? Presumably the Saxons would at first have said no, but as integration took its course succeeding generations might have taken a more relaxed view. We, when we think of Magna Carta and parliamentary democracy and everything else that followed the Norman victory in the subsequent history of Britain – not least the establishment of our own country – show by our enjoyment of that heritage that for us its benefits outweigh the slaughter on the battlefield at Hastings.

Those who dislike Australia Day are, like every Australian, inheritors of British history and of the Australia it produced and if they are honest will judge the events of our national origin accordingly – not on the basis of some faddish academic condemnation of colonialism or sanctimonious self-induced guilt over something for which they were not responsible and cannot change, but as an instance of the immemorial mixture of pain and gain by which human affairs proceed. By the criteria of who we are and where history has placed us, and by that other constant criterion of human affairs, self-interest, can critics of Australia Day say with hand on heart that they would be happier that the nation in which they live had never come about?

If the answer is yes, what a daily inner tussle they must endure between conscience and easy living. No wonder they’re so angry on Australia Day.

Published in The Spectator Australia 21 January 2017




WELCOME TO YOUR COUNTRY


The relentless official promotion of “indigenous” traditions of dubious origin does nothing for national unity.

Connoisseurs of our sunburnt country’s timeless heritage have a treat in store next month. An indigenous tanderrum, or ceremonial mass gathering, unperformed for nearly two centuries until recently, is again being staged in all its spectacle.

To see it, you’ll have to go to Melbourne’s Federation Square, where it’s become part of the annual don’t-fail-to-miss-this Melbourne Festival – an eighteen-days Left-tinged wallow in what the festival website calls “stories and sensations” but might more accurately be described as a farrago of concentrated modish tossery. Tanderrum’s cast sounds big enough to make Cecil B. DeMille envious: “the five clans of the Kulim Nation: Wurundjeri, Boon Wurrung, Taungurung, Dja Dja Wurrung and Wadawurrung”, “facilitated” by a travelling troupe called the Ilbijerri Theatre Company (“We create challenging and inspiring theatre creatively controlled by Indigenous artists”).

Festivalgoers are invited to assume a kind of honorary aboriginality to join in. “Come dance,” the website urges, inviting public participation, though presumably not the sort of public participation we saw the last time there was a big event in Federation Square, when teenage ethnic gangs surged in, outrunning the police and terrifying one and all.

“Through Tanderrum,” proceeds the publicists’ blurb, “we acknowledge the lore of the creator spirit Bunjil” a clear demonstration of Chesterton’s dictum that when men cease to believe in God they don’t believe in nothing but in anything. Bunjil’s creativity notwithstanding, until the festival took it up four years ago no tanderrum had been “practiced (sic) here in Melbourne since 1835” (are the vast sums of taxpayers’ money spent on these arty bunfights insufficient to employ a copywriter aware of the nuances of English spelling?).

Since 1835? What they mean is since whitey barged into the Arcadian scene. That was the year John Batman sailed up the Yarra and  – can we still say this? – founded Melbourne. Was a tanderrum in full swing as he stepped ashore? Was he just in time to catch the last dance? An academic account of what happened next would go like this. Having tricked the representatives of the Kulim Nation into giving him what he called a “place for a village” in exchange for an assortment of mirrors, beads, combs etc., he turned nasty and showed his true colours as a patriarchal invading cultural genocidist by banning future meetings of the five clans on his newly acquired land, perhaps as too noisy. How else can one explain that it was another 177 years before the next tanderrum was “practiced” there?

Or is the website’s “since 1835” a fiction? Could it be that tanderrums were never known before 1835, indeed never known until about ten minutes ago, having been, like some other supposed “indigenous” lore, thought up as part of the current drive to widen the gap between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians? Everyone’s heard of corroborees. Why not tanderrums?

Naturally, this one includes a “welcome to country”. This is another indigenous “tradition” whose origin, far from being lost in the mists of antiquity, is very much visible in not-so-far-distant 1976, when it was invented by Aboriginal campaigner Richard Walley. Ersatz though they are, welcomes to country are now imposed by federal, state and municipal governments all over Australia as obligatory at public events. The Australian citizens who through their governments own the buildings and sites on which they take place are “welcomed” on to their own land as though they were foreigners. Is this not only hypocrisy but insulting and patronising towards Aboriginal Australians? “Let’s pretend you own this site so that we can all play at welcoming and being welcomed.” Imagine the short shrift the welcomers would get if they asked for real ownership of valuable public property, say, for native title to the Sydney Town Hall.

Welcomes, Aboriginal “national” flags flown along with the Australian flag, smoking ceremonies to expel “evil spirits” (even at the supposedly rational CSIRO!) and bien-pensant exercises in racial wedge-creation such as Tanderrum are everywhere now, which raises the question of why so many contemporary Australians of non-Aboriginal background go gaga over all things supposedly Aboriginal. Our grandparents didn’t. School textbooks and magazines and books about Australia up until the 1960s were not disrespectful of Aboriginal customs and traditions (Australia’s best known travel magazine of the time called itself Walkabout) but didn’t treat them as though they were inherently superior to the Anglo-Celtic way of life inherited by the majority. What changed?

What changed is that many Australians and other Westerners discovered self-hatred. They lost respect for their own history and institutions. The Leftist march through the organs of government, instruction and opinion, prefigured in the 1920s by Antonio Gramsci, bore fruit half a century later as the West, led by its elite, began to turn against itself. In schools and universities the impressionable minds of the young soaked up an account of British civilising achievements as being nothing more than a dark saga of invasion, expropriation and exploitation that would make Attila blush. When the Prime Minister himself refers to his country as having been “invaded”, in the way, for example, that the Germans invaded Poland, you know the Left has made its point.

Yesterday’s students are today’s adult voters and festival patrons. They are nice well-meaning people who feel guilty about what they have been told we did to the original inhabitants of this country. They think that by going to Tanderrum or acknowledging “traditional custodianship” or allowing themselves to be welcomed they are helping to make amends, to “promote reconciliation”. They are mistaken. The real plight in which too many Aborigines find themselves is not to be seen at festivals. It is in the outback townships and will not be healed by well-intentioned gestures.

When will guilt-ridden white Australians wake up to the fact that they have been gulled by the peddlers of an ideological mythology adopted by the Left in all ex-colonial countries as a means of undermining the West in general? Is the recent banning of welcomes to country by a Sydney suburban council a hopeful straw in the wind? Indigenous minorities are but one of the “victim groups” cultivated by Marxists with a view to stoking the flames of grievance and thus fragmenting social stability. Harmless in itself, Tanderrum is a small flywheel in this strategy.

Instead of playing into the hands of ideologically driven grievance-mongers and unwittingly perpetuating division, it would be better for everyone with Aboriginal welfare at heart to do their bit for integration as the right future for our country. Integration is working. How else could we have an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander theatre company?

Published in The Spectator Australia 24 September 2016