In this contribution, I make reference to a number of books and publications read over recent weeks
- ‘7 ½’ by Christos Tsiolkas;
- ‘Philanthropy in Ballarat by Doug Bradby;
- ‘The New Kingdom’ by Wilbur Smith;
- The Accidental Prime Minister [by Annika Smethurst;
- The Game [by Sean Kelly].;
- ‘A Narrative of Denial: Australia and the Indonesian Violation of East Timor’ by Peter Job;
- ‘The Wimmera: A journey through Western Victoria’;
- “Corporal Hitler’s Pistol’ by Tom Keneally,
- Australian Foreign Affairs, Issue 14: The Taiwan Choice.
7 ½ by Christos Tsiolkas
Published in 2021, 344 pages: early on in this book, I felt as though I didn’t wish to keep reading – there seemed to be so much emphasise on the subjects of body odours, under-arm smells, and vivid depictions of sex between men in particular, and constant references to the male anatomy – I just felt the whole tone of the author’s writings to be distasteful and over-done.
And yet the praise for the book from people like Helen Garner and Charlotte Wood, established writers in their own way, were full of flowing praise – ‘so personal, so delicate, so true’ – ‘a scorching, mythic work with a heart of the sweetest intimacy’. I came to realise there was much more to the book than that which I personally found distasteful – as also noted on the back cover ‘ “A breathtaking audacious novel….about finding joy and beauty in a raging and punitive world, about the refractions of memory and time and, most subversive of all, about the mystery of art and its creation’ – on that aspect, so much outstanding references to art and music, nature and birds, the ocean.
So yes, those latter aspects did come to dominate and depict the storyline, and while the subject matter which had initially annoyed this reader, continued to ‘intrude’ from time to time, I had to admit in the end, I enjoyed the book, and found so many of the writer’s reflections on art, music, and nature quite exhilarating
As ‘Google Books’ notes – “An audacious and transformative novel about the past, the present and the power of writing and imagination from the award-winning author of Damascus and The Slap. Art is not only about rage and justice and politics. It is also about pleasure and joy; it is also about beauty”
[Occasionally, as noted previously, the writer’s idea of ‘beauty’ didn’t always quite align with mine!].
Meanwhile, a Goodreads summary tells us that “A man arrives at a house on the coast to write a book. Separated from his lover and family and friends, he finds the solitude he craves in the pyrotechnic beauty of nature, just as the world he has shut out is experiencing a cataclysmic shift. The preoccupations that have galvanised him and his work fall away, and he becomes lost in memory and beauty … He also begins to tell us a story … A retired porn star is made an offer he can’t refuse for the sake of his family and future. So he returns to the world he fled years before, all too aware of the danger of opening the door to past temptations and long-buried desires. Can he resist the oblivion and bliss they promise?”
One reviewer, Maks Sipowicz writes as follows:
In his latest novel, 7½, Christos Tsiolkas declares that he is tired of the lofty ambitions many novelists hold of writing about things such as politics, sexuality, race, history, gender, morality, or the future. ‘All of them now bore me,’ he writes. Instead, his goal is to write about beauty.
7½ blends three stories. The first is about Tsiolkas himself, reflecting on the process of writing, the things that drive and motivate his interests, and his exhaustion with the political thinking permeating every aspect of art (as he sees it). The second is about younger versions of himself, in a series of vignettes about his youth, his coming to discover his sexuality and realising the beauty and sensitivity to be found in the pursuit and satisfaction of desire. The third, and most important, about a retired bisexual porn actor, who returns to Los Angeles from his home in regional Australia at the behest of an ageing fan wishing to experience in person the desire the actor inflamed in him from the screen.
These three intertwining stories amount to a reflection on desire and on finding beauty in oneself and other people. I found the passages about young Tsiolkas to be particularly engrossing, as the author recounted with love for his past self the key moments that made him. Altogether, the three stories are evocative of the strength of nascent feeling, the kind that comes with the passage from youth into adulthood when every emotion is felt much more keenly than later in adulthood. The blend of autofiction with pure imagination is very effective in this. His experience is informed by both the experience he brings back from memory, of his early youth and the discovery of his desires and the pleasures that come from their satisfaction, and by the story he invents of the porn actor. In turn, the story he invents is informed by the author’s memory, as he consciously places people and sensations from himself into his fiction.
In trying to write about beauty, Tsiolkas’ strategy of cycling through the three storylines is an effective device for avoiding bland platitude. Instead of merely pointing to beautiful things, such as a young boy’s early desires, a middle-aged man’s love of his wife, or his own experience of beauty in nature, Tsiolkas builds a contrast between the beautiful and the ugly and shocks us into accepting that the two are not mutually exclusive. He reminds us that beauty is to be found in unexpected places. In this, I found 7½ to be a novel encouraging of quiet reflection which can spur the reader into reflecting on their own memories and finding beauty therein.”
A novel well worth a read, particularly if you are more tolerant of some the areas [which in the end, formed a minor part of the book] which I found a little distasteful.
‘Philanthropy in Ballarat: Irrespective of Creed, Country or Colour’ by Doug Bradby.
Something very different to Tsiolkas, and a brief read – part of a series of historical booklets about the City of Ballarat by this author.
As noted in the booklet, there has always been poverty in Ballarat and there has always been those who strive to relieve the suffering of those in need’ Reading this booklet, I was particularly interested in the reference to the ‘opposition’ expressed and enacted against the Salvation Army bands marching in the streets of Ballarat in it’s earlier years, and some female members being actually jailed for doing so. Not so philanthropic, certainly on the part of the Mayor of the day who seem to be the main instigator because a ‘licence ‘ to ‘march’ hadn’t been obtained!! [p.30/31].;
‘The New Kingdom’ by Wilbur Smith [published in 2021]., 407 pages.
Another enthralling novel by Smith, full of the usual mix of historical fiction, war, love, betrayal, bloodthirsty descriptions, and so on. Historical fiction has always being one of the Coachbuilder’s favoured genres of writing, the opportunity to learn new aspects of history, whilst recognising of course that this has been interpreted through fictional families and storylines.
Born in 1933, we sadly lost Wilbur Smith, aged 88 years in November 2021, and this was one of his final books, published in the year of his death. Born in Zambia, he was a British-South African novelist specialising in historical fiction about international involvement in Southern Africa across four centuries, seen from the viewpoints of both black and white families. By the time of his death in 2021 he had published 49 books [most of which I have purchased and read since 1973] and had sold more than 140 million copies.
Let’s just incorporate one summary/review of the book, this time from QBD Books – “A brand-new Egyptian novel from the master of adventure fiction, Wilbur Smith. In the heart of Egypt under the watchful eye of the gods a new power is rising In the city of Lahun, Hui lives an enchanted life. The favoured son of a doting father, and ruler-in-waiting of the great city, his fate is set. But behind the beautiful facades a sinister evil is plotting. Craving power and embittered by jealousy, Hui’s stepmother, the great sorceress Isetnofret, and Hui’s own brother Qen, orchestrate the downfall of Hui’s father, condemning Hui and seizing power in the city.
Cast out and alone, Hui finds himself a captive of a skilled and powerful army of outlaws, the Hyksos. Determined to seek vengeance for the death of his father and rescue his sister, Ipwet, Hui swears his allegiance to these enemies of Egypt. Through them he learns the art of war, learning how to fight and becoming an envied charioteer. But soon Hui finds himself in an even greater battle – one for the very heart of Egypt itself. As the pieces fall into place and the Gods themselves join the fray, Hui finds himself fighting alongside the Egyptian General Tanus and renowned Mage, Taita. Now Hui must choose his path – will he be a hero in the old world, or a master in a new kingdom?”.
Another great read from Smith – though he, as always, never ‘draws back’ from his vivid descriptions of violence, bloodshed, sex, and love, all combined with brilliant interpretations of history, whether imagined or real.
Recently, I completed reading the two recent Scott Morrison biographies [both published in 2021], the second one, finished reading within 36 hours of it’s purchase.!
- The Accidental Prime Minister [by Annika Smethurst], and,
- The Game [by Sean Kelly].
Two very differently formatted books – the former, going through Morrison’s life in typical chronological order with strong emphasise on recent years, while the second, described as a Portrait, consisting of various chapters under a range of titles, with no specific chronological approach attempted.
Two interesting brief descriptions by prominent female journalists are highlighted on the cover jackets of each book: Smethurst’s book is described by Laura Tingle as “A penetrating study of relentless ambition and making ‘ordinary’ the new political norm, none of it edifying, all of it essential reading’” while Kelly’s book is described by Niki Savva as “Engrossing, illuminating and often disquieting”.
Two very apt descriptions, because yes, I did find much of the material not particularly admirable! In both cases, I found these books an ‘easy read’, in comparison, for eg, to the average lengthy and detailed political biography, and not because of paucity of material, but simply the style of authorship, which kept you interested and keen to continue reading.
‘The Accidental Prime Minister’ certainly doesn’t lack detail, and in typical bio fashion traces Morrison’s life through that of his parents and earlier generations to himself. It relates, through the various ‘life stage’ chapters the growth and development of his particular personality traits, his search for power, and how this growth related to his involvement with work colleagues in his early years, and with the various prime ministers, and other politicians that preceded him leading up to his involvement in politics before actually entering the field as a member of parliament. There’s a full reflection of his times, in particular, as Immigration Minister, before moving into the social welfare area [perhaps a welcome attempt to soften the impression of ‘hardness’ created in his previous role], and then onto the Treasurer, and finally, the rise to the position of Prime Minister. Throughout these stages, the use and development of the various ‘traits’ with which he is so often identified today, are revealed and demonstrated.
‘The Game’ especially provides some interesting perspectives on the man, and in many ways, reflect much of the ‘tone’ of Kelly’s writing. Three examples of many throughout the book, I copy below, and quite obviously, it needs be understood that these should really be read within the overall context of the chapter or section of the book from which they are taken.
- From pps 248-249, we read “By this point in Morrison’s prime ministership, a set of recurring traits is clearly visible. There is the dependence on tactics, a sense that politics is a game to be won. There is an overreliance on cheery platitudes in the place of serious thought. There is the inability to see out from his own narrow view of the world, his tendency to focus on those that remind him of himself, and the defensiveness that arises when he is asked to do otherwise. Most importantly, there is a stubborn, reality-denying belief that everything will turn out well”.
- Earlier, on page 91 – “If you throw yourself into a performance, then you can, at least temporarily, come to believe that the performance is real. This does not require delusion. You know that you have said something, but, at the same time, you believe that you never said such a thing. There are two frames, and you are capable of existing in both at once: the frame in which the world is as you say it is, because you are the prime minister, and the frame in which facts dominate. Morrison’s particular skill is to toggle back and forth between these frames as necessary, to believe whichever needs to be believed.”
- Finally, on page 102: “He never feels, in himself, insincere or untruthful, because he always means exactly what he says; it is just that he means it only in the moment he is saying it. Past and future disappear”.
I guess we can say that those sort of quotations give some kind of authenticity to the way that much of Australia over the past couple of years in particular, view the Prime Minister, either fairly, or not! I’ve selected one particular review, from many, in each case, to perhaps provide an indication of what the ‘professional’ critics feel about the writings in these two books, and whether those comments reflect in broad terms the feelings of the general populace.
Michael Rowland, writing for the ABC [on the Smethurst book]:
Much has been made of how Scott Morrison unexpectedly became Prime Minister at the end of that week of Liberal Party turmoil in August 2018.
How he was, just like Australian Olympic skater Steven Bradbury, the last man standing in a contest that had seen the other competitors fall over before the finish line.
But, as political journalist Annika Smethurst notes in her absorbing biography of Morrison, The Accidental Prime Minister, that would be to overlook a few things.
Just like the surprise gold medallist in the 2002 Winter Olympics, the man from The Shire had spent many years preparing to be in a position to succeed when his competitors tumbled.
Smethurst’s book is an uncompromising account of Morrison’s life, and how he amassed steadfast allies and bitter enemies in equal measure along his path to the top job.
here are friends who talk about the loveable suburban dad; a man lacking in pretense who has an innate understanding of how “ordinary” Australians think.
Then there are the political colleagues who take aim at the ruthlessness and scheming they insist marked his rise in Canberra.
In the words of one unnamed minister quoted in the book, Scott Morrison is “volatile, sly and untrustworthy”.
The book takes a look at what was a faltering start to Morrison’s professional life.
Armed with a science degree from the University of New South Wales, the young graduate and devout Christian dreamt of a life studying theology, but ended up in a string of corporate jobs in both Australia and New Zealand.
A successful stint as state director of the NSW Liberal Party was followed by a not-so-glorious period as managing director of Tourism Australia, a body funded by the federal government.
methurst charts the tumultuous events that led to Morrison’s sacking by the Tourism Australia board halfway through his three-year contract.
“He really didn’t see it, and he was gutted,” says one of his friends.
An assertive Morrison had a tense relationship with then tourism minister Fran Bailey and it is clear the bad blood continues to flow nearly 20 years later.
Bitterness also marked Morrison’s entry into Parliament in 2007.
We are taken back to the extremely unpleasant Liberal preselection contest for the safe seat of Cook, based around Cronulla in Sydney’s south.
Amid a flurry of damaging allegations thrown around by all sides, Morrison was defeated in the first round of voting.
The successful candidate, Michael Towke, was subsequently dumped by the party’s state executive, with Morrison triumphant in the second ballot.
Smethurst then proceeds to chart what she describes as a “relentless pursuit of power” that took Morrison all the way from the backbench to The Lodge.
Not formally aligned with any particular Liberal Party faction, Morrison always favoured pragmatism over ideology as he climbed through the ranks.
But underlying it all was a ruthless streak that sometimes got him into trouble.
Like the time when, as the opposition’s immigration spokesman in 2010, he attacked the then Labor government for flying detainees from Christmas Island to Sydney for the funerals of family members who had died in the sinking of a boat packed with asylum seekers.
Smethurst says the “heartless misstep” nearly cost him his job.
There were also questions over how Morrison reconciled this hard-line stance in opposition, and later as immigration minister, with his Christian faith.
We learn, through confidants, how Morrison first raised the idea of getting rid of Tony Abbott within 12 months of the Coalition’s 2013 election win, and how he clashed with Treasurer Joe Hockey.
One long-serving Liberal minister describes Morrison as a “predator intent on dominance”.
Morrison threw his support behind Malcolm Turnbull because it would give him the best chance of taking over from Hockey and move him “one step closer to the prime ministership”.
The 2015 leadership change duly installed Morrison as treasurer.
e was viewed by colleagues as a hard worker and a strong communicator, but before long frustrations were building within Turnbull’s office about Morrison frontrunning economic policy through the media, primarily the News Corp tabloids.
In that frantic final week of Turnbull’s prime ministership, Morrison publicly supported his leader, while keeping a close eye on the shifting numbers in the party room.
This relentless ambition had finally secured Morrison the ultimate political prize.
As have many of his internal Liberal opponents, the Bill Shorten-led Labor party fatally underestimated Morrison in the 2019 election, handing the Coalition another term in office.
Smethurst rounds out the book with a critical look at the past two years.
She identifies a tendency by Morrison to blame-shift when he’s under pressure, from his initial mishandling of the Black Summer bushfire crisis to the trouble-plagued COVID vaccine rollout.
Smethurst – who has worked with News Corp and now the Nine newspapers — also gives us some revealing insights into Morrison’s working relationships with women.
She says a “common sentiment expressed by female colleagues was that they felt excluded, overlooked and even ignored while Morrison was in the room”.
One female Coalition frontbencher goes as far as describing the Prime Minister as a “deeply ingrained chauvinist”.
At the same time, Morrison is credited with having a Herculean work ethic, and possessing a deep understanding of what gets through to mainstream Australians.
At critical points in his political career, he has made his own luck.
Reading Smethurst’s exhaustive biography gives you a much better insight into a man whose ascendancy appears to be anything but accidental.
From ‘The Conversation’ on ‘The Game’; [by William West]
“How can you tell if a politician is lying?” It is a favourite joke of my grandfather’s, and the punchline is all too obvious: “His mouth will be moving.”
The joke gives succinct expression to a cynicism that has shaped Australian politics since the introduction of self-government in the 1850s. The implication, of both the joke and the culture informing it, is that the politician’s lies reflect solely on their kind and reveal nothing about the rest of us.
In his newly published profile of Prime Minister Scott Morrison, Sean Kelly flips this way of thinking on its head. The Game offers many powerful and revealing insights into Morrison’s career and the tricky political tactics that have characterised it. But the most important revelations in this book are about the society that created our prime minister, and the structures and cultures that facilitated his path to the Lodge.
Kelly explains, for example, that Morrison worked hard to be a “blank canvas” in the public eye until perhaps 2015, at which point he became the more recognisable suburban “good bloke down the road”.
This persona, replete with the “ScoMo” nickname, has characterised his public performances ever since. But the performance only matters because it finds in the Australian community “a willing audience” who, recently at least, like to have what novelist E.M. Forster called “flat characters” (or instantly recognisable “types”) in their newspapers and their parliaments.
Formerly a self-described “spin doctor” for both Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard, Kelly studies Morrison’s public persona not just with the eye of a Canberra insider, but also with the lens of a cultural critic. In this “land of extremes”, he says, Australians are
always splitting ourselves in two, then ignoring the half that discomfits us.
For Kelly, this mentality explains why the so-called “quiet Australians” have indulged “the game” that Morrison plays, while the others have rejected him entirely (“I am completely different”).
Given Kelly’s Labor connections, cynics might expect a partisan hit-job on the prime minister. This portrait is no hit-job, but it is, unsurprisingly, unflattering.
Kelly gives Morrison the benefit of the doubt with respect to the early stages of the pandemic, “a situation unlike anything those involved had dealt with before”. There is recognition, too, of the burdens that Jenny Morrison and her daughters have borne in service of public life. But the portrait of Morrison himself is a study of duplicity and hollowness.
There are criticisms of Morrison’s more tone-deaf and morally dubious performances, none more so than the forced handshakes with reluctant bushfire survivors and firefighters during that black summer of 2019-20.
But the most important conclusion about Morrison in this book relates to the way he thinks. Kelly suggests Morrison’s mind does not think in narratives, but only in images or snapshots (think of the punchline of the tourism ad he commissioned, “Where the bloody hell are ya?”). This, Kelly reasons, is why he can say one thing with such apparent conviction today, and the opposite with equal fervour tomorrow.
For a public figure, this inconsistency would be impossible “if it were not a central aspect of their experience of the world”. The psychological analysis here is sweeping, its inferences devastating.
There are many praiseworthy qualities in Kelly’s study. Serious issues, from asylum-seeker policy to the COVID-19 pandemic and vaccine roll-out, are given ample coverage. But this is no traditional biography, and these debates are not its central concern.
The main subject of this book is the performance of politics itself, and the narratives that mediate the public’s relationship with its representatives. The idea of “performance” seems resurgent in political theory and history, and its capacity for revelation is rich.
In some ways, Kelly’s book builds on an older tradition of political profiles that took performance as their main subject. Graham Little’s Strong Leadership (1988) and Judith Brett’s Robert Menzies’ Forgotten People (1992) stand tall in that tradition, using psychosocial theory to unpack the hearts and minds of Australian liberals from Menzies to Malcolm Fraser. Don Watson’s Recollections of a Bleeding Heart (2002) is equally important, part-memoir, part-meditation and part-psychological study of Paul Keating as prime minister, written from the intimate perspective of a prime ministerial speechwriter.
In each case, the biographer’s goal was to explain not just who the prime minister was, but how their way of thinking engaged with the world around them.
Kelly does not try to discover the “real” Scott Morrison, a task rendered almost impossible by the vacuousness of the prime minister’s performances and the role of the media in presenting him to us.
Instead, he evokes the divided community to whom Morrison performs, and the social and cultural processes that allow those performances to take place and, at least sometimes, hit their mark. Kelly’s method is to home in on public speech, its sounds and cadences, as well as the often elusive messages and impressions that Morrison seeks to convey with his words.
The chief limitation of The Game is that, relying largely on public material, it cannot take us into the institutions that empower Morrison, other than the media.
We don’t learn much about the Prime Minister’s Office, other than that it failed to respond to Brittany Higgins’s alleged rape in Parliament House in an appropriate fashion.
Parliament itself is a stage here, but scarcely recognisable as an institution that makes laws. The public service is invisible. National Cabinet is, according to Kelly, little more than an “aesthetic change” from the Council of Australian Governments (COAG) that preceded it.
It says something about the condition of contemporary politics that it is hard to say whether these absences are a flaw in the author’s approach, or inevitable given the style of leadership it so astutely anatomises.
In the end, The Game invites us to look toward the next election. That poll will, Kelly implies, reveal something more of ourselves, or at least those “quiet” Australians who are supposed to have voted for Morrison in 2019. Like most of us, Kelly is unsure who will have the last laugh.
‘A Narrative of Denial: Australia and the Indonesian Violation of East Timor’ by Peter Job [published in 2021 by Melbourne University Press, 356 pages, including pps 278-356 consisting of Notes, Index, etc]
I had been trying to get through this book for some weeks – it made for very disturbing reading about the attitudes and approaches towards East Timor by both the Whitlam and Fraser governments , and while the subject was not new to me, I have to admit to being quite shocked at the described ‘denial’ tactics of both governments. Long-time friend Ruth really brought this to our attention at the local Uniting Church in the late 1990’s with a series of passionate and usually emotional calls for the people of East Timor to be assisted, and this was almost two decades after the events depicted in this book. From that passion, arose a ‘Social Justice Group’ at that particular church which operated through the early 2000’s, placing particular emphasise on Indigenous and refugee issues and needs. As is revealed in this book, the Indonesian invasion of East Timor in 1975 led to a prolonged conflict, severe human rights abuses and a large loss of life.
The book was extremely detailed, almost [probably was] with seemingly every speech by politicians, the media, and others on the subject, throughout the period in question included throughout the various chapters – especially 1975-1983, and because of that detail, I found it difficult to read a great deal at one time – the word extensive study below is a very apt description – . the trend and theme of Australia’s approach was repeated time and again with little change in ‘official’ policy during that period. The book demonstrates how the Australian government used the guise of national interest to forge a false account of the Indonesian invasion of East Timor. In today’s world, the Chinese for eg, would counter Australian criticism of China’s human rights record, with the claim that Canberra tends to ignore human rights abuses in countries Australia wants to get on with. Its approach towards Indonesia’s treatment of West Papuans and East Timorese is an example. And during the period of this book’s time line, one of the threats used by the Indonesian authorities, was that if Australia didn’t bring those protesting and publishing adverse criticisms of Indonesia’s actions into line, it would be to point at the international level, to Australia’s long-term treatment of it’s own Indigenous populations. The same kind of accusation could be used in respect to modern Australia’s government treatment of refugees!
From the book ‘jacket’ we read:
“What role did Australia play in the Indonesian occupation of East Timor? From 1975 to 1983 the Indonesian military’s campaign of ‘encirclement and annihilation’ destroyed rural food resources, creating the famine that took most of the lives during the occupation. The Australian governments of Gough Whitlam and Malcolm Fraser presented themselves as advocates for human rights and the international rule of law, while viewing relations with Indonesia as key to their foreign policy objectives. These positions came into conflict due to the Indonesian invasion of East Timor. Based upon an extensive study of Australian foreign affairs archives, as well as interviews, ‘a Narrative of Denial’ demonstrates how the Australian Government responded to the conflict by propagating versions of events that denied the reality of the catastrophe occurring in East Timor. It worked to protect the Suharto regime internationally, allowing it to continue its repression relatively unhindered. This remarkable story will unsettle existing perceptions of how Australia operates in world affairs.”
I thought I might quote a few comments from parts of the book, in particular the concluding chapter, which sums up the separate conclusions inserted at the end of each chapter throughout the book. By necessity, these are just isolated selections which however are supported within the body of the book and through extensive research and voluminous ‘notes’. The author himself [Peter Job] was involved in the East Timor support movement during the Indonesian occupation, including working on the radio link to Fretilin in 1978 [radio links of this sort were regularly closed by the government for fear, that the ‘wrong’ messages and impressions were given to the Australian people through such ‘propaganda broadcasts – in the same way that the various support groups – including some of the government’s own members – were attacked as preaching ‘subversion’ against the government policy and were creating adversity with respect to Australia’s desire to maintain a good relationship with Indonesia.
As mentioned somewhere in the book, the crisis in East Timor generated with the Australian public, a far less degree of support or protest [much less so in fact] than for example, the Vietnam War, or the Indigenous marches for Reconciliation, etc, because the broader public were constantly assured through government policy and pronouncements that there ‘was nothing to see here’, and the problems of a small backward nation were being humanely treated through the intervention of Indonesia! But as indicated, the word ‘humane’ was a long way from the truth. One of the constant arguments put up by the Fraser Government was that East Timor was a poor, backward country, which needed the ‘humane’ assistance of Indonesia to help its people, and that Indonesia should be praised for the humanity of its resettlement policies following the displacement of thousands of the Timorese due to ‘supposed’ civil war, a level of unrest that had forced Indonesia to ‘reluctantly’ move into East Timor to restore order!!!
Some quotations from ‘A Narrative of Denial’
In the meantime, a few selected quotations from Job’s writings.
- “Key to this narrative was the claim that the invasion was an irreversible matter of the past that Australia had objected to but was powerless to change. This produced the contention that the interests of the Timorese people were best suited by the Australian Government working with a fundamentally well-intentioned Indonesian regime that had reluctantly intervened in a destabilising situation allegedly brought about by circumstances beyond it’s control”. [p.140];
- East Timor was never an issue of the first order for much of the Parliamentary Labor Party [during the Fraser years] or for a great deal of the activist left. The lack of interest by most sections of Australian society, allowed the government to proceed with it’s agenda with some success” [p.141];
- [At the United Nations] the interests of the Suharto regime were central. Australia lobbied for the interests of the Indonesian Government from the invasion onwards, with the long-term aim of removing the issue from the UN agenda and achieving international acceptance of incorporation. As in the domestic arena, this required the propagation of a ‘narrative of denial’ concerning the events that had led to the Indonesian invasion and the ongoing situation’:[p.173];
- “The attacks on James Dunn, ACFOA and other Timor activists by pro-Suharto journalists and academics furthered the government’s efforts to depict them as marginalised radicals, using hearsay, anonymous sources and unverified claims in support of an irresponsible ideologically based campaign against the Indonesian Government. Gough Whitlam, a former prime minister of a Labor government and a respected figure to many on the left of politics the world over, abetted this further. His energetic, unrestrained and aggressive lobbying on behalf of the Suharto regime and his denigration of individuals and organisations attempting to bring the real situation to the world’s attention bolstered the Fraser Government’s ability to position its narrative as the responsible one. It also created mistrust concerning the veracity of information deriving from Timorese Catholic sources, whence a great deal of the evidence about the situation in the territory was coming.” [p.264];
- “As the testimony of DFA officials at the Senate inquiry demonstrated, the propagation of the government narrative did not require a sophisticated understanding of the situation, particularly concerning the humanitarian plight of the Timorese people. On the contrary, it required purposely ignoring available evidence.” [p.264];
- “ The Whitlam Government’s denial of what it knew regarding the deaths of the Balibo Five and its consequent failure to protest would have sent a strong message to the hardliners within the Suharto regime that Australia would not prove a substantial impediment to any course of action it might choose”. [p.268-69];
- “Good relations with the pro-Western and anti-communist Suharto regime were therefore important to the Fraser government’s concept of the Australian national interest. The welfare of the Timorese people, in contrast, was never a substantial consideration. It was during the Fraser years that the majority of those who died in East Timor due to the occupation lost their lives. Despite the extent of the crisis, however, East Timor never became an issue of major importance to the majority of Australians, nor did it spawn a movement comparable to the Vietnam War protests or even the anti-apartheid campaign. Nevertheless, with evidence of the humanitarian crisis emanating from East Timor on a regular basis, the work of the smallish but energetic solidarity movement, the Timor parliamentary lobby, ACGOA, James Dunn and others was successful in keeping the issue in the public eye to a reasonable extent for most of the Fraser years.” [p.269-270];
- “Australian policy was impaled on the hook of the relationship with Suharto’s New Order, unwilling to move beyond its vision of the Australian national interest or the primacy the relationship with the regime played in it. So fearful was it of offending the Suharto regime that, regardless of the evidence, the Fraser Government proved incapable of attempting tosteer Indonesia away from its course of action or itself from its support for it.”;
- As Foreign Minister, Andrew Peacock was a forceful supporter of the government’s policy.. in October 1976, he told parliament that “the political reality was that it did not serve Australia’s interests to place itself on a massive collision course with Indonesia.” [p.124] and “Peacock assured Mochtar in December 1979 that his government shared the Indonesian Government’s concerns regarding ‘sensational and distorted’ media reports about East Timor and wanted to work with it to improve its image in Australia”. [p.239]; and,
- “However, Australian policy during the years 1974 to 1983 ultimately proved neither pragmatic or realist. Even judged by their own policy goals the contention espoused by both Whitlam and Fraser that they were acting in the Australian national interest proved incorrect…..The efforts by successive Australian governments to protect the Suharto regime on the Timor issue culminated ultimately in the INTERFET intervention and the strained relations with Indonesia that accompanied it………….Australian policy failure, however, went far deeper than this. It was a failure due to the immense suffering it caused to the people of East Timor. More than a failure of policy goals, it weas a failure of conception, morality and ethics, and of fundamental human rights. Policy failed as these matters did not even figure in Australian calculations of the national interest or foreign policy goals. An Australian foreign policy built upon an elite, hard-nosed and supposedly realistic approach to the national interest ultimately proved neither realistic nor viable, and for the people of East Timor it resulted in catastrophe……The people of East Timor were regarded as dispensable. It was this that had the direst consequences, and it was this that was the real policy failure.” [p.274-75].
‘The Wimmera: A journey through Western Victoria’ published in 2021, 232 pages [a Coffee Table boo
Some fascinating descriptions of the old towns and their origins in the Wimmera district of western Victoria, so sad that in many cases, these towns have all but disappeared with maybe a few residents remaining, and very few of the original buildings. Interesting that many of the towns came to life and really developed when the railway lines connected them up with other areas, but similarly, they gradually ‘died’ as the railways were discontinued. Some of my family ancestors lived in many of these areas, and I’d like to do another road trip to explore them before it’s too late.
This book was a ‘companion to ‘The Mallee’ basically the area in western Victoria, more or less to the north of the Wimmera region.
“Corporal Hitler’s Pistol’ by Tom Keneally, published in 2021, 335 pages.
This story was a bit slow to get into initially, and I didn’t feel as though I was going to get much from this book. But, as I read on, the storyline developed and the various family scenarios began to create some interest. I guess we can call it ‘historical fiction’ although perhaps more on the fiction side, as compared for eg, with the books of Peter Fitzsimons. I did get through the story in speedier fashion than some of the Keneally books I’ve laboured through in the past. I found the references to the ongoing Irish problems of the time of special interest, as I did the reflection, of rural Australia’s continuing negative attitude [in the 1930s] to the Aboriginal inhabitants on the outskirts of country towns, etc.
Susan Wyndham, writing in the Guardian Australian in September 2021 provides a succinct review of Keneally’s book which I’ve taken the liberty of copying below.
‘When Tom Keneally chose the loaded title Corporal Hitler’s Pistol, he would have been well aware of Chekhov’s advice to writers that if a gun appears in the first act it must be fired in the second. Indeed, he fires his fictional pistol several times to dramatic effect in his 35th novel, a compelling blend of historical crime thriller and intricate portrait of an Australian rural community. The gun has been lurking in Keneally’s imagination since the first act of his own life. His father, serving in the Middle East during the second world war, sent home souvenirs including a German Luger holster (not the pistol itself), which Keneally can still show visitors.
Nazi Germany and the world wars have inspired many of his rich narratives, most famously the Booker prize winner Schindler’s Ark. Corporal Hitler’s Pistol sits in the unstable peace between wars, when post-traumatic pain collided with the Great Depression and escalating tensions. The Japanese occupation of Manchuria leads a young man to speculate: “I hope I am wrong. But could we be seeing the opening to a second Great War?”
The action is focused in 1933, two years before Keneally’s birth, in the north-coast New South Wales town of Kempsey, where he spent his early childhood. He draws on experience and folklore, such as an old German-Australian said to possess a pistol that had belonged to Hitler.
His familiarity with the town makes Kempsey crackle with commerce, gossip and class divisions from the opening pages. Well-to-do Flo Honeywood walks through the streets, glimpsing other characters, and steeling herself to confront her husband, the respected master builder, about an Aboriginal boy from the camp outside town who looks just like him.
Always a first-rate storyteller of a traditional kind, Keneally displays his mastery of narrative technique in a series of cinematic set pieces that propel the story forward while intimately developing the characters. Some take place in the Victoria Theatre, the centre of social life, where Hollywood movies add glamour and dreams to ordinary existences.
Young Gertie Webber speaks with actorly exaggeration, and her brother Christian imagines dressing his mother “in the manner of Marlene Dietrich in Shanghai Express”. The Victoria simmers with the novel’s repressed eroticism. At a screening of Tabu, “Harper Quinlan, the projectionist, said you could hear the boys’ fly buttons popping all over the cinema”.
Chicken Dalton, the “effeminate and stylish” pianist who accompanies the Saturday night pictures, is the most theatrical of a lively ensemble. He sounds like a Dickensian dandy but is based on a real resident of the time and represents Keneally’s homage to the gay men of his youth.
“Kempsey’s pansy” finds sexual company with closeted homosexuals whose secrets are bound to blow up. Keneally inhabits gay, female and Indigenous characters with confidence and complexity, all of them observed in convincing detail from their fashion to their fears and desires.
A glimmer of social change begins with Flo Honeywood’s rebellion against her husband, which brings her into unexpected connections with Chicken and with the Aboriginal boy, Eddie Kelly. Her meeting with a group of Thunguddi women in Tsiros’s Refreshment Rooms is a finely drawn microcosm of multiracial Australia. But the might of power and prejudice lie waiting for vulnerable transgressors.
In the other main storyline, Bert Webber, a Lutheran dairy farmer, breaks down on seeing a newsreel about the new German Chancellor, “the man with the stupidly economical moustache”. Despite his German forebears, Bert fought with an Australian battalion in France and watched his friend shot dead by a “skinny, droop-moustached” German. The encounter will haunt him and the course of history.
While Bert relives his horror under electroconvulsive therapy and mesmerism, his unhappy wife, Anna, fills the void with one of the novel’s steamy sexual affairs. Further intrigue emerges with the mysterious past of Johnny Costigan, the Irishman who manages the Webber farm.
Keneally’s prose is robust (and sometimes humorous) with the language of Catholicism learned as a young man: “That sainted and cursed gun … equivalent of the nails that tore Christ’s hands.” “The hallway [of the convent] smelt of polish and virginity, and Flo thought it not a bad smell.” And in a sexual communion, “there was gravidness and erections to be attended to”.
Flashbacks to trench warfare in 1916 and to the Irish Civil War in 1922 dramatise the ambiguities of conflict. At times Keneally the historian is so keen to share his knowledge that he nudges aside Keneally the novelist and the pace slows. Yet these dark events are essential to understanding later motives.
Keneally deftly plaits together his disparate strands, far too canny to create predictable outcomes. Nothing goes as planned, even for those with noble intentions, keeping the plot taut right to the end. Corporal Hitler’s Pistol manages to be a rollicking, optimistic entertainment while mourning the human tragedies that shaped the 20th century and beyond’.
Meanwhile, a general reviewer, simply by the name of Des, provided an interesting summary of the story which generally allied with my feelings when he wrote:
‘Corporal Hitler’s Pistol is an engaging novel that tantalisingly plays with the notion that a pistol supposedly used by Adolf Hitler, is the cause of intrigue and drama in the regional town of Kempsey in the 1930s. Thomas Keneally creates characters with separate yet connected stories that are linked by an unknown historical event: the use of Hitler’s pistol from WWI. He relates these stories quite independently, yet engaging the reader with the circumstances as to how the themes ultimately bind together. Little is presented about Hitler except for detail to give historical authenticity of his being. The setting of Kempsey is indicative of Australia of the 1930s and illustrates parochialism, sectarianism, misogyny, social stratification, racism and homophobia. I did enjoy Tom Keneally’s use of Australian idioms and slang so typical of the time. Woven into the story are unresolved issues around Irish nationalism, Irish Civil War and WWI trauma which played out among the protagonists.
I enjoyed the richness, suspense and anticipation in the novel even though I needed some time to digest all that was read. Thomas Keneally brought the novel alive with the outstanding character development and unfolding stories. At times the storyline became very difficult to follow, however the interest level was maintained and the ending was compelling which gave me an enriching reading experience’.
Australian Foreign Affairs Bulletin, Issue 14: The Taiwan Choice: Showdown in Asia.
The fourteenth issue of Australian Foreign Affairs examines the rising tensions over the future of Taiwan as China’s pursuit of “unification” pits it against the United States and US allies such as Australia. The Taiwan Choice looks at the growing risk of a catastrophic war and the outlook for Australia as it faces a strategic choice that could reshape its future in Asia. “Whether or not America chooses to fight, a crisis over Taiwan would most likely see its position destroyed. This is the real flaw in America’s position, and Australia’s.” writes Hugh White. His and other contributing essays examined the following aspects, and most of them did not provide very comforting reading, particularly if we give much credence to the kind of scenarios depicted in the Taylor quote, below.
- Hugh White reveals why war over Taiwan is the gravest danger Australia has faced.
- Linda Jakobson probes how Xi Jinping views Taiwan in an age of Chinese assertiveness.
- Brendan Taylor examines what a conflict over Taiwan might look like.
Quote: “A full-blown conflict over Taiwan could make living through the COVID-19 pandemic seem like a cakewalk. It would very likely be the most devastating war in history, drawing the world’s major powers into their first nuclear exchange. Hundreds of millions could perish, both from the fighting itself and from the sickening after-effects of radiation. Even a limited nuclear conflict would be an environmental nightmare, with soot from incinerated cities shutting out the sun’s rays, depleting food supplies and plunging the planet into a prolonged famine. Life for Australians would be forever changed. Such a catastrophe looms closer than we think. If it eventuates, those left behind after Asia’s atomic mushroom clouds have settled will wish that we had fought with every fibre of our being to prevent it.
- Yu-Jie Chen explores the Taiwanese view of autonomy, independence and China.
- Stephen Dziedzic considers whether a generational divide is fuelling Australia’s intensifying China debate.
- William Stoltz examines how Canberra can combat malware and cyberaggression.
- Cait Storr writes on the geopolitical space race and the likelihood of nuclear war.
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