Under The Gun

Like many of us, I’ve spent the past few days horrified and, yet, transfixed by the footage of the Boston bombings. Saddened. Sickened. Absorbed by the tragedy.  And as each day passes and none of the usual suspects claim responsibility, we are drawn inexorably toward the conclusion that this was the act of some lone “home-grown” lunatic or, at least, an isolated coalition of the deranged.  Another product of a society with some sickness at its core that withers humanity and, in its place, allows the weeds of malevolence to grow.  A society that claims to live under grace but, in reality, lives under the gun.  While the United States spends its time prosecuting the case against the violence of other nations and cultures, it has lost sight of the deformities in its own reflection: the cruel affliction of violence twisted in on itself.

America, when will you be angelic?

Consider these statistics on gun violence in the US from the Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence:

·         there are around 30,000 deaths each year from gun violence;

·         around 1 in 3 gun deaths are homicides, giving 33 firearm homicides every single day;

·         38% of all gun casualties are children and young adults;

·         gun homicide is the leading cause of death for African American men and women aged 1-44 years;

·         from 1982 to 2012, there were 61 mass murders in the US across 30 states – an average of three per year; and

·         these mass murders are getting worse – the five worst mass murders on record have occurred in the last five years.

In the face of these numbers and their human costs, the US Senate rejected seemingly moderate gun reforms aimed at keeping weapons designed for no other purpose than to kill other human beings out of the hands of those who might seek to apply this purpose.  While the US does have broader cultural issues around guns and violence that it must address, the rejection of these gun reforms by the Senate is a very specific failure of morality.  It is a failure of the morality of conservative politics.  These reforms were voted down by Republicans – seemingly for political expedience and gamesmanship – despite the overwhelming support of the American public. They were voted down on a hollow justification of “individual rights”, by the self-same people who oppose marriage equality and sustain government intervention in the relationship between consenting adults. If, as is reported, some Republican Senators describe this as a victory, it is only a victory for cowardice and hypocrisy over humanity.  A victory for the moral terrorism of machine politics. 

America, when will you be worthy of your best hearts and minds, instead of pandering to the dystopian prayers of your worst?

It is staggering that this violence exists, let alone – for all practical purposes – it being government sanctioned, in a comparatively wealthy and sophisticated society.  This is not happening in some anarchic, war-torn, poor and emergent republic.  This is happening in the so-called “great republic”.  This is happening in a nation that continues to dictate morality to the world.  It begs the question: why do we listen?  How does the US maintain any influence and authority on the world stage? How does a nation so riddled through with hypocrisy and eaten away by inequality find the strength to stand on that stage and carry the audience away in a wilful suspension of disbelief?  Of course, the answer is obvious: they’ve got the guns.  Violence and fear are America’s damnation and its salvation.  Violence and fear destroy the soul of the nation, but also sustain its glistening, star-spangled facade.  The choice has been made.  America’s future is now slung in the holster upon its hip ... [fades to static]

Maggie's Farm

So many column inches in so many places have been written about Margaret Thatcher over the past week that it feels almost redundant to add further to the topic.  Like so many, I have my own experiences of Thatcher’s Britain and the desiccated and broken lives blown out the exhaust pipes of its engines.  But these stories add little more to what we’ve heard and read already, other than to further confirm the bitter legacy of power untempered with humanity.  Besides, it would be tough to top comedian Russell Brand’s remarkable piece that appeared in The Guardian: I Always Felt Sorry for her Children.

Rather, at the end of the week that was, perhaps the more interesting question is to now ask what is to be made of the reactions to Thatcher’s death?  To consider the haze made visible by the moonlight, as Conrad might put it.

It would be tempting to conclude that time has caught up with, overtaken and now looks back in disdain at Margaret Thatcher and her legacy.  Certainly, much of the discourse around her death has focussed on the viciousness of her reign and the moral vacuum in which she encased it.  It is easy to become drawn in by the drama, emotion and humanism of this narrative.  But it is not the full picture.

When I was a kid – an oddly politically-conscious lad living in Melbourne’s outer fringe – my understanding of Thatcher’s Britain arrived to me via popular culture: The Young Ones and the other heroes of the alternative comedy movement, The Clash and The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole.  Then, in the late 80s, my family moved to England for a year.  Nestled away in the Cotswolds, I can remember being amazed at discovering that a lot of people actually liked Maggie.  How could that be?  How could so many people be so wrong?  Surely, there was only one way to feel about such a tyrannical figure?

 

God, you’d think Devil Woman had never been written!

Even now, this division exists.  For every person rejoicing that the wicked witch is dead, another bemoans the loss of an admired leader.  This is not just a British phenomenon either.  In Australia, we see the hard-faced, hard-haired daughter of Maggie, Julie Bishop, chastising Foreign Minister Bob Carr for daring to challenge the unreality of Thatcher’s noble image by relating a story that underscored her innate racism and the lens of conflict through which she viewed the world.  But Bishop is not alone in seeking to protect the mythology of Thatcher.

Here in lies the paradox: that the reaction to Maggie’s death reveals that Maggie isn’t dead.  The world has not moved on beyond the grasp of Thatcherism and a conservative politics of rampant individualism, of reprisal rather than fairness, of brutish authority rather than stewardship, of division and dollars and the building of economies rather than nations.  We hear the echoes of Thatcher’s voice in those who speak about deploying drones to help “stop the boats”.  We see the flicker of Thatcher’s merciless swinging cane in the cuts to TAFE funding in Victoria.  We feel the chill of Thatcher’s shadow when we hear PM-in-waiting Tony Abbott talk about “Australia Inc.” and “adaptable workplaces”.

No, Thatcher’s passing does not signify anything.  It is just another twist in the writhing evolution of conservative politics, where the skin is shed but the beast remains the same.  To review and debate Thatcher’s legacy as though it were an artefact and unconnected to the conservative politics of today and, equally, to celebrate her passing as some kind of final karmic justice is to focus on the tail of the beast rather than its head.  And that just seems a good way to get bit ... [fades to static]

It's Not You, It's Me

Easter is a time rich in mythology.  This is perhaps why the Fairfax media chose to run this fairytale by chief political correspondent, Mark Kennedy, over the weekend: Simply Put, Gillard is Indestructible. In it, Kennedy argues that Labor’s best shot at the next Federal Election is to play up Prime Minister Gillard’s “toughness” ... seemingly because, well, it works in America.  He humbly writes:

“Strength in leadership is not a preoccupation unique to the great republic, however ... if Labor strategists are not thinking about strength and toughness right now, they should be.”

It’s a remarkable piece in that it masquerades as analysis when in fact it’s based on two myths shakier than a toddler yipped up on an Easter Egg chocolate rush.

The first myth is that Gillard is actually a “tough” leader at all.  On this issue, I won’t comment further here as it has already been beautifully dissected and debunked by Michael Koziol, writing for The Spectator, in his piece: How Does Julia Sleep?  Koziol writes:

“‘Tough’ might be an appropriate descriptor of Gillard the political operator, but it would be the wrong one to characterise her leadership. A tough leader, I believe, would not have capitulated to Tony Abbott and forced Kevin Rudd to dump the Emissions Trading Scheme. A tough leader would not have surrendered to the big miners and renegotiated the mining tax into insignificance, breaking the budget in the process. A tough leader would prosecute the case for Labor’s compassionate stance on asylum seekers, rather than racing the Coalition to the bottom of the scrapheap. A tough leader would stand up to the unions instead of abiding loyally on every question, from 457 visas to gay marriage.”

The second myth at the heart of Kennedy’s fantasy is that “toughness” exists as some kind of universal virtue for a political leader.  That it is part of the fanciful (and engendered) “great leader” archetype and a panacea to other failings.  The reality is that there is no default quality or style for a political leader.  What matters is not the characteristics of the leader per se, but how their qualities, style or persona speak to the electorate at a particular time and place.  It is how these qualities make us feel about ourselves – our attitudes, our futures, our pasts and our place in the world – that really matters.  Our political leaders forget at their peril that it isn’t who they want to be, but what we want and need from them that determines their success.

 

“Toughness” plays out in the United States as a consistently valued characteristic in its leaders because much of American culture is based in an entrenched narrative of persecution.  From the Pilgrims to today, it has been the US vs The World – a nation that grew up fast in a nursery of conflict and paranoia.  This is why intelligent people in the US will talk, straight-faced, about the right to bear arms.  This why US foreign policy at its core is little more than “to re-make the rest of the world in our image”, through fair means and foul.  This is why the US leads the way in UFO sightings and conspiracy nuts.  In this environment, “toughness” in a leader brings comfort – it says, “Read my lips, your fears are validated but you are protected”.

Take me to your leader.

Australian culture does not exist on an entrenched narrative of persecution or, indeed, on any such singular theme.  We are a nation too immature, too multi-faceted and too lucky to be defined consistently over time by a single narrative.  Ours is an evolving cultural story that changes and grows like a developing child.  At any given time, one narrative may dominate the mainstream, but our history shows that such a narrative will be transitory.  We have been characterised at different times by narratives of dependency and, equally, of defiance, of generosity and, too often, of fear.

More recently, our culture was perhaps best seen through a prevailing narrative of guilt.  We achieved a level of sophistication as a nation to allow self-reflection.  We recognised that we were very much the lucky country and our luck had been built on exploitation.  Depending on our world views, this recognition was internalised or felt to be (unfairly) thrust upon us.

Former PM, John Howard, read this narrative and exploited it to his great success.  He was no inspiring or charismatic leader, nonetheless he made us feel better about ourselves: we felt better about being self-centred, better about being “a little bit” racist, better about prizing material gains and better about being unrepentant for our past.  Howard placed his hand upon our furrowed brows and absolved us – this was his genius and his crime, and both were greatly rewarded.

Through this lens, it can be argued that Gillard’s great failing has simply been a failure to understand what the electorate needs from its leader now ... a blindness to the prevailing cultural narrative and the corresponding relief she needs to provide.  Hence, we see this churning identity, as she casts about in the dark trying on personas ... but nothing connects.

This, in part, may be due the sense that the prevailing narrative is shifting again.  Guilt is giving way to gratification and even fear.  But we are in the process of change.  There is flux.  At this precise moment, we are a nation of uncertainty.  Thus, what the electorate wants in its leader is stability – not survivability and crisis.  On that score, Gillard is mortally wounded and playing the “indestructible” card would just bring attention to the instability that enshrouds her leadership – both in a political and identity sense.  More importantly though, it again puts the focus on the wrong place: Julia’s story, rather than ours.  Sorry, Julia, we’re voting for us, not for you ... [fades to static]