Trump’s Victory

He comes on stage

self-riveting manhood

slow clap death knell

posture’s chance

He had it like it always would

Like he always knew

He would win

Without trying

In vain

Opponents’ disdain

Was there ever

A chance

It could all go wrong?

This prize fall

Into Gotterdammerung

We hope

for safe landing

some assuring

sotto voce

and obsequious

But another

voice rises

A leader once,

Fallen and derided

Long lost in the crowd

Now straight-talking


Backpack strapped

striding off into the gloom

with that same undaunted confidence

And sanguinary air

– Megan Payne


Entry for Edward Gough Whitlam

I should be asleep. I am tired and another early morning shift at work tomorrow. Was going to write more on another blog post but the best laid plans of mice and men are put to one side by the endless entrances of events.


Edward Gough Whitlam has died – at the grand old age of 98. It’s so sad to think that a vital link to my days of youth has gone.


I remember him most of all with the ‘It’s Time’ campaign when he swept into power – glorious and triumphant – with such a wonderful vision for a new Australia shining in the bright blue skies above the eucalypts that Australia always has had.


An inclusive, enthusiastic, vital Australia – where education would be accessible to everyone, no-one need go broke being sick and where everyone could have a healthy, happy life free of hardship and equal opportunity.


And I love the way Whitlam and his old foe Malcolm Fraser became friends and allies in a lot of important causes after the tumult and grief of The Dismissal had died away over the decades.


I remember the power of his mild eyes and steady gaze – this was a statesman for peace and the common good and in this way, far mightier than those disgraceful, tin-foil hatted, saber-rattling little men who formed The Coalition of the Willing in the early days of the new millennium.


In my own life I think the advantages his government gave me was free education – even though I abandoned my university degree in 1981 due to a serious mental illness. But I did manage to complete enough to make getting back to it easier 15 years later when I had a job and a young daughter and husband. Also, the medical care and welfare I received during my illness was enough to stop me from getting into desperate circumstances – and then again my low cost education and training opportunities helped get me into a normal, productive, financially independent working life.


Despite the difficulties that I faced, Australia – thanks to Gough Whitlam – was a first-world country with enough second chances and opportunities to stop me from falling through the cracks. So I survived and prospered in a way that does not need great wealth.


Only a few politicians have The Vision Thing – and Whitlam had a depth and breadth of vision for this country that we had never seen before and have not seen much of since, except in some ways from Paul Keating.


Whitlam did not make it to 100, but then probably did not want to go on much longer without his wife. I remember him looking like a mighty figure bowed with immense dry-eyed woe, but still magnificent in his utter despair. I guess he can rest in peace now with his beloved Margaret.


A new generation of students – my daughter included – revere him and are astounded at his legacy when they study it. So Edward Gough Whitlam will live on – some parts of my youth will never die.

Sir Tony Abbott and the City of God

Today, dour and overcast, is the day after the night before.  The 2013 federal election in Australia has been fought and won by the conservatives again and us as a family watched the strange posthumous battle of vote-counting develop to see most of the Labor marginal seats fall to the Liberal National Party.  Still the grave former Defence Minister Stephen Smith said he would be pleased to see any number of Labor seats ‘with a five in front of it’, and they got there, with 54 confirmed seats so far.

But as Kevin Rudd’s cheerful defeat gives over to Tony Abbott’s strained rictus-grin of victory, I am reminded of an observation the journalist David Marr makes of the victor: ‘What makes next week, let alone next year, so peculiarly hard to predict, is this romantic notion that a better person will emerge once he gets there: a Tony Abbott that resolves the old contradictions between the principled Catholic and the ruthless populist who has got him where he will be tonight.’

But where does Tony Abbott, with all his scholarly acumen, get the idea that somehow the alchemy of public office will magically transform him into some sort of divinity?  Isn’t it up to himself to resolve what moral dilemmas come his way, for instance whether to take action on Syria or not?  Or yet see the moral turpitude of incarcerating wretched asylum seekers trying to reach our shores in concentration camps?  Surely the idea that the very fact of being in power will somehow enforce a discipline to the soul and thus take him to the City of God is utterly naive?

Didn’t a certain British historian, politician and writer, Lord Acton remark that ‘all power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely’? It’s interesting that he himself was a Catholic.

As accounts of his personal life go, Tony Abbott seems to have veered between the pleasures of the flesh and the sanctity of chaste priesthood – and turned out to his apparent disappointment a Sir Lancelot rather than the saintly and irreproachable Sir Galahad, who did find the Holy Grail and died a very holy death.  Maybe it’s not so surprising that Sir Abbott’s journey consists of such a longing for the redemption that he imagines the demands of political power to bring, as if Parliament House was the City of God and that celestial virtue (which was never his own) will descend accordingly and settle itself on his shoulders like a royal cloak.

‘The ancient world found an end to anarchy in the Roman Empire, but the Roman Empire was a brute fact, not an idea.’  Writes the philosopher Bertrand Russell as a preface to his chapters on modern philosophy in his ‘A History of Western Philosophy’.  ‘

‘The Catholic world sought an end to anarchy in the Church, which was an idea, but was never adequately embodied in fact.  Neither the ancient nor the medieval solution was satisfactory – the one because it could not be idealized, the other because it could not be actualized.  The modern world, at present, seems to be moving towards a solution like that of antiquity: a social order imposed by force, representing the will of the powerful rather than the hopes of common men.  The problem of a durable and satisfactory social order can only be solved by combining the solidity of the Roman Empire with the idealism of St. Augustine’s City of God.  To achieve this a new philosophy will be needed’.

The ‘will of the powerful’ verses ‘the hopes of common men’.  Already Tony Abbott is enmeshed in the demands of the will of powerful men.  The media magnate Rupert Murdoch, whose phone-hacking scandals have disgraced him to the world, has supported the LNP with a vociferous campaign of some of the most ethically challenged journalistic bias in media history.  Abbott may quite rightly claim that he owes the old fox Murdoch nothing, but he also said nothing in protest about his unconscionable media juggernaut.

Abbott says he will govern for all Australians, but what does he know about the hopes of common men?  His main appeal to common people is to their individualistic material aspirations, of taking away superannuation for low income earners to fund parental leave for upper middle-class women.  He spurns anything to do with unions and their historic, hard-fought campaigns for a better way of life for everybody.  In fact he was heavily involved in the ill-fated ‘Work Choices’ campaign of a previous conservative government to take those rights away.  In a working world of term-contracts, casual work and imported labour, workers in the future may have to fight for better pay and conditions all over again.

It is all so easy in the City of God to propound on what is right and what is good in the imagination of the exalted ecstasy of faith.  But Middle-Earth, a place where the struggle for survival against circumstance and uncertainty is perpetual, has a way of muddying and obscuring such gems of ideals under clods of earth, whereby what seems fine on a mountain means foul to those who live beneath its shadow.

I will be watching Sir Abbott’s journey as Prime Minister with interest.  Is he aware, or is he blind?