Wednesday, December 12, 2007

We all suspected it, and it appears the rumours are confirmed... The Big J has proved that Guy Rundle is infact Stalin!



Janet Albrechtsen has long been renowned for her right wing bilge over at the Oz. Her overt support for such grotesqueries in contemporary Australia's social backdrop as the History Wars, the bizarrely militant denial of climate change, Muslims, and pretty much any bigoted position she can postulate have confirmed her as the great voice of quasi fascism in Australia. Albrechtsen is not simply an imbecile like a Piers Ackerman or Andrew Bolt, her arguments are often carefully considered and detailed with occaisionally striking points, but she is very right wing and combined with such intelligence makes for a dangerous mix. On her blog today she takes aim at what she calls the "Orwellian Left".

Now, I am able to put up with her tripe peddling most of the time, despite the fact I believe her polemics to appeal to the very worst in people. But comparing the "left" (which I really consider meaningless these days and seems to be applied to anyone who doesn't spend their spare time beating black people and genuflecting before pictures of the queen) with Stalinism is not only obnoxious and vile in the force of comparison but is an utterly putrid reading of Orwell. Albrechtsen believes that "left" columnists such as Guy Rundle, who have called for her sacking to be akin to the pigs in Animal Farm:

" By calling for a purge of this conservative columnist and all like her, Crikey contributor Guy Rundle has compressed Animal Farm by going straight to the last chapter and skipping the irony."

I take issue with her statement that she is a "conservative" columnist. Conservatives, in the true meaning of the word, are concerned with maintaining the status quo, with not reforming, but opting for change in society through small gradual modifications. Albrechtsen "and her like" are radicals, seeking to completely turn on its head the accepted wisdom that white Europeans stole this country and proceded on a programme of cultural destruction for the better part of 200 years. This is radical, right wing revisionism at its worst and the word "conservative" hides the true drive behind their polemics.

The final chapter of Animal Farm is the best in what is not Orwell's most subtle book. Albrechtsen's analysis follows:

"Animal Farm subtly portrayed the big risks of totalitarianism. Over time, the pigs who had overthrown the human oppressors (remember the motto: “four legs good, two legs bad,") became the two-legged tyrants. At least Orwell’s classic allowed the passage of time to obscure the pigs’ hypocrisy a little. We could enjoy the slow descent into anarchy.

Deeming themselves the brainworkers, the pigs keep all the milk and apples for themselves. They steal the puppies and raise them as their vicious secret police, allowing the pigs to finally take over the farm declaring that “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”. "


Predictably, Albrechtsen makes the comparison with her own situation, claiming Rundle, in petitioning the Australian for her dismissal is as totalitarian as the pigs in Animal Farm. She points to the "slow decent into totalitarianism" on Orwell's farm as proof of Rundle's danger to Australia. But Orwell was not talking about pigs. He was talking about Stalin. Albrechtsen believes that trying to kick her off the pages of the Oz is tantamount to the beginnings of a slow decent into Stalinism. Albrechtsen is drawing an extremely long bow. To those of us who may have studied or taken some interest in Stalinism, it is not only a long bow, but an extremely disturbing claim.

But Albrechtsen goes further, directly comparing Rundle with Orwell's Napoleon, the personification (or should that be cochonification? Swinification? or pigification?) of Stalin himself. Guy Rundle is, apparently, Stalin waiting to happen right here in 21st Century Australia. I can already see the gulags, full of people not guilty of anything, living out in the desert somewhere. Rundle will, no doubt, engineer a famine, killing all the Liberal voting West Australians. He will doctor photographs which had featured people who had fallen out of favour with him and turn Australia into a society of fear, insisting that children turn against their parents if they speak against him, murder artists and destroy freedom of speech forever.

Of course, it is the last point which Albrechtsen is getting at. She is appalled that it seems no longer to be acceptable to say things which are seen as morally offensive. When a prominent scientist recently suggested that there was some evidence to suggest that African blacks were genetically disposed to being less intelligent than Caucasians, the British press came down like a tonne of bricks on him and most of his public engagements were cancelled. Is this stifling freedom of speeck? No, of course not. Sitting interestingly alongside this is democracy. The weight of public opinion came down upon Dr. Watson, deeming it to be offensive. Those who had engaged him to speak withdrew their offers because of how it may reflect on them. This is the premise of our system of law. It used to be permissible in England to beat one's wife with a rod no thicker than the man's thumb (hence the expression "rule of thumb"), and invariably the social norms changed and this is now not only illegal, but considered abhorrent. The notion of the right to freedom of speech is one which is constantly questioned anyway, with it now being illegal in most countries to praise terrorists. I don't seek to excuse the actions of such people at all, but point out the difficulty with such rights. Similar issues are raised when David Irving does anything at all and Louis Farrakhan travels. Rights are contradictory in that in exercising them may lead to an infringement on someone else's. Albrechtsen trivialises the 30 or more million deaths attributed to Stalinism, the horrific reality thereof and displays a contempt for freedom of speech in denouncing Rundle's right to petition for her sacking. It seems her own right to make preposterous comparisons trumps the right to appeal for her sacking.

The big J's article goes on and gets stuck into Robert Manne over the History Wars, then insults people at the University of Melbourne for getting rid of Geoffrey "Australia's greatest living historian" Blainey as dean of arts for his puerile interpretation of Aboriginal history. There is way too much for me to tackle here and I may do so some other day, the point on freedom of speech is an interesting one and I would be interested to here peoples' views on the contradictory nature of rights.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

To the manufacturers of pasta packets and writers thereof:

I don't understand pasta packets. They always say that the pasta will cook in some random time... let's say 10 minutes... but the time it takes to actually cook to the satisfactory point is invariably 3-4 minutes longer. This is almost a truism, such is the contempt felt for these guides in pasta consuming circles. My lovely wife and I are reasonably partial to the odd pasta, partly because of her Italian routes and partly because of my own love for starch and starch related products. But you expect the cooking time to be at least within the realms of possibility.

And now I get angry.

Today I am at work. Sitting, contributing to the economy of this newly enlightened country of ours, twiddling my thumbs and making up my mind what to eat at the next feasible moment. I have recently returned from lunch, before which my thought pattern consisted of much the same elements. Now, let it be known that I live around the corner from work and thus am able to enact the dream of the working person in being able to return to my abode for lunch. Today I decided I would cook myself a pasta.

I return home 8 minutes into my 45 minute break. I hun around the kitchen for the quickest cooking pasta. Coles brand pasta (no great advertisement to my culinary nouse, but we bought it because it was way cheap and to see if it was edible) cooks in 9 minutes. By this stage I have wasted a further 4 minutes. 33 minutes until I have to get back. I put on a pot of water and wait for it to boil and cook a nice little napoli with some garlic and the use of homemade passata. Nine mintues later, the water is bubbling away. I throw in a spoon of salt and wait for the rolling boil to return. 24 minutes to go. I put the pasta in. The sauce looks wonderful. I decide that I will make it tuna pasta and hunt around for a tin of tuna. I put on the TV, Philadelphia Story is on. I love that movie and watch the wonderful seen with Jimmy Stuart drunk and Cary Grant loving it. I eat a piece of pasta (I maintain this is the only way to tell properly when it is perfect). Still very hard. 16 minutes to go. I need to leave in 8. the pasta should be done (according to the packet) in 1 minute. I add five to this. This gives me two minutes to wolf down my pasta... not a fan of this and Italians would be appalled at such disrespect to the food. I decide I will ride back to work. That takes three minutes. I have a look at what else is on during the add breaks. A documentary on Johnny Hallyday, a rock deity in France where between 1/4 and 1/3 of the population have seen him perform live. I get up and taste again... better but not done.... I continue to watch Melvyn Bragg interviewing Hallyday, taste again... getting there. 8 minutes to go... I add the tuna to the sauce and swirl it around. It looks marvellous. Finally the pasta seems done. I strain it in haste (6 minutes left) and add it to the sauce. Calamity! In my eagreness to get back to work, I didn't let the pasta strain for long enough! There is now too much pasta water in my sauce. Thank god nobody was there to partake. I start wolfing it down. I have only 4 minutes to eat a large (that may be my fault for not measuring the pasta) bowl of watery pasta and be back at my desk. By the time I finish I fly out the door. I hop on my bike and "fang" it down to work. I am four minutes late. I could live with this but I have burnt my mouth... my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

As anyone who accidentally boiled the milk when making a hot chocolate will know, a burnt mouth means you don't taste things for the next few days. This will add to my stress tonight when I go to my bookclub (for which I haven't finished the book- sorry bookclubbers, but I was a little bored) as the food there is invariably good. Nor will I taste the wine after wine after wine... I may even be sober at work tomorrow morning. Get your act together writers of pasta packets! that thing underestimated the cooking time by 9 minutes, that's double the time it said it would take. If I'd had that time, I wouldn't have burnt my mouth and I would have finished the book club book (why the hell not).

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

We are moving to France and...

I strongly dislike administrative processes. Collect a blue form and put it in a green envelope then take it to the man down the hall to get a stamp and then bring it back to me. That sort of thing.