Blog Articles

American Shoots Australian Soldier - Aussies Fight Back

Tuesday,Dec 06, 2011 10:47 am

Seventy years ago this month American forces arrived in Australia to help repel the imminent Japanese invasion – and one year later they were fighting each other on the streets of Brisbane.One Australian soldier was killed, others wounded. At least a dozen Americans were injured when the Aussies retaliated.

Australian authors Peter Thompson and Robert Macklin have revealed the hidden story to an American readership for the first time with the posting of THE BATTLE OF BRISBANE – Australian and the Yanks at War by the e-book publisher BWM Books.

The Australian casualty was Gunner Edward Webster; his killer was the United States military policeman, Private Norbert J. Grant. The shooting took place during an anti-American riot by Australian troops in the heart of the Queensland capital on Thanksgiving Day 1942.

The following night, armed groups of Australian ‘Diggers’ took revenge in a series of attacks that left many Americans hospitalised. Military censors immediately cracked down and no details were released then or later. Norbert Grant was court martialled in camera and found not guilty. He later returned to America and avoided the authors’ best efforts to reveal his whereabouts.

In a statement released today the authors said, ‘It is understandable that the matter was kept secret at the time. The two armies were fighting together in New Guinea and the Islands. News of the clash could have seriously affected morale.

‘However, it does have lessons for policy makers today. Military forces bring with them the danger of conflict with domestic troops, despite their best intentions. We have seen the tragic results all too often in Iraq and Afghanistan.’

See http://robertmacklin.com/ebook.php for more

Ah, coincidence

Monday,Dec 05, 2011 12:13 am

Ah, coincidence, from Dickens to Didion it is the meat and drink of the writer's art. Even readers know that. But what they do not know, and we do, is just how big a role it plays before we begin to write the story.

It matters not at all whether our specialty is fiction, memoir, non-fiction or even fantasy, the moment we start researching a new book the coincidences arrive thick and fast. A newspaper article on your subject opens an unexpected door the very day you begin; a randomly selected television program supplies a vital link; friends have relatives at the heart of the matter; even Aunt Maud produces a letter from her glory box that adds a totally new dimension.

In fact, so common is the phenomenon that I no longer call them coincidences. In my book (as it were) they're just incidences. But I was unprepared for this one for it's been 40 years in the making - totally unexpected yet it could hardly be closer to home.

A little background if I may:

I was born and raised in Queensland's bible belt, became a fierce young Methodist, signed the pledge and ran the local Order of Knights until suddenly at adolescence reason kicked in and I was bereft. I realised it wasn't true. The Trinity thing was absurd; and if God ran everything, how come I'd been born in a war where millions died; and what about those poor Jews?

Not even the arrival of the Billy Graham caravan could quell the growing certainty that the whole religious bucket was full of holes. But if so, what about Jesus? As an only child Our Lord was like a big brother to me. He became the core of my struggle to escape the childhood propaganda and the conflict tore me apart. And though I searched the local libraries for some guide to the reality of his place and person, the shelves were bare.

Fast forward 20 years and I was determined that when my own sons reached adolescence they would have a book that told the 'real' story of Jesus, stripped of its supernatural absurdities, so they wouldn't have to endure the agonies I'd suffered.

I set to and researched what became, seven years later, The Secret Life of Jesus published in 1990 by Pan Macmillan. Long excerpts were run by the Murdoch press throughout Australia that Easter and it caused quite a stir. But because of the conservative (or apathetic) nature of Australians towards religion it was ahead of its time and didn't run to a second printing. However, in 2006 came Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, quickly followed by Chris Hutchins' God Is Not Great, and suddenly the whole subject was open for discussion.

So I returned to Jesus and rewrote the book to incorporate my more finely honed views, the revelations of priestly predation and the new rigor able to be applied to the subject. And I called the new work, quite appropriately, The Jesus Delusion.

But there was a problem. Its appeal was international and the eighteen books I'd published in the meantime had been directed almost exclusively to an Australian (and Chinese) readership on very different subjects. My Australian publisher, Hachette was reprinting my latest work, SAS Sniper for the sixth time and its marketing people would be totally opposed to something so different. Despair raised its gloomy head.

Then came the (co)incidence. My son Ben for whom I'd written the book (though unlike his father he'd taken the whole religious thing with a grain of salt) had been gaining masters degrees in the law of the internet and other associated subjects, then working in New York, Paris and London as a senior internet analyst. Now he'd returned to Australia and had quietly embarked on an exciting new venture.

He had just completed all necessary research and was ready to launch an e-book publishing operation - BWM Books - that offered authors a terrific deal on resurrecting their backlists. He had secured scanners in the UK, the US and Australia for those works without an electronic version; gathered a team of image makers to produce exciting internet-friendly covers; and most importantly, had navigated all the sites (Amazon being only one of very many) to get the best exposure for each new publication.

His contracts with authors involved a combination of up-front payment and/or a share of the returns...but here's the best bit. He'd decided to work out all the bugs in the system using his father's books!

The Jesus Delusion was posted several weeks ago and I've been delighted with the result. Good reviews followed and sales began what Ben calls 'a typical slow burn'. The Sniper book is just published in the U.S. but Jesus is more than holding his own.

There are three steps, he tells me, that the author should take in preparing a book for e-book publication. First, format the electronic MS so it fits neatly into the e-book reading devices such as Amazon's Kindle, Apple's iPad/iPhone, PC's, tablets and other such contrivances. For example, if you're using WORD, don't use the tab to indent paras or the space bar to centre text. They don't translate into an e-book format.

Second, you should create an interactive Table of Contents so readers can move back and forth between chapters and from text to references.

Third, you'll need an electronic cover image. Bear in mind the print book cover might have copyright protection.

The costs of resurrecting a print book to a new life in this cyberworld are relatively modest but must be taken into account. To scan a print book into a WORD file costs 20p a page (if the book can be destroyed in the process), almost double if you want the book back. The preparation for e-book devices can take up to four hours for an expert. BWM charges about AUD$200 for the process which includes publication on Amazon and Smashwords.

Then of course there's the promotion and marketing of the book on the Internet, a very different exercise from the usual book tour or radio blitz. This is an area, thank goodness, where Ben has the expertise and it can be part of the package. But the financial returns - with the author typically taking up to 70 percent of the sale price - can be substantial.

All I can offer is a confident prediction: more than one author reading this will mutter in astonishment, 'Blow me down; I was just about to go looking for info on e-books for my backlist. What an extraordinary coincidence...almost Dickensian...Didionesque...'

If you are interested, his address is ben@bwmbooks.com

Robert Macklin is the author of 20 books, mostly non-fiction. He is the biographer of former Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd and winner, with co-author Peter Thompson, of the $30,000 Blake Dawson Prize of 2009 for THE BIG FELLA - The Rise and Rise of BHP Billiton.

The Jesus Delusion - the sad truth revealed

Sunday,Dec 04, 2011 11:58 pm

As we approach Christmas and the traditional celebration of the birth of Jesus, a new book reveals for the first time the human figure behind the supernatural myth. Award-wining historian and biographer Robert Macklin returns to the original sources to cut through the distorted and dishonest picture of Jesus created and promoted by the Christian churches.

The Jesus Delusion will take its place beside Richard Dawkins’ seminal work, The God Delusion to undermine the tyranny of organised religion over science and reason.

Robert Macklin, the official biographer of Australian Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd. is the author of twenty books of biography and military history; and with co-author Peter Thompson, The Big Fella, the award winning expose of the mining giant BHP Billiton.

The Jesus Delusion follows an earlier exploration of the roots of Christianity’s founder, the highly acclaimed 1990 work, The Secret Life of Jesus. Both draw heavily on a forensic examination of the gospels for the hard-edged reality behind the myths. But the new work extends and expands on the manner in which the priesthood, aware they were deceiving their flock, abandoned all morality and preyed on the children in their care.

The claim that Jesus was born at Christmas is typical of the deceit endemic to the Church’s false picture of Jesus. His birth date is simply unknown; the Church has simply appropriated a pagan celebration of the winter solstice; yet most believers are unaware of the truth.

But most damning is the pretence that he was a god in human guise. Indeed, his own words in that climactic moment on the cross when he felt his life slipping away are key to the reality: ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’

It is the final despairing cry of a man who believed that by then his Heavenly Father would have recognised the power of his sacrifice and intervened to end the world of men and established a spiritual existence where righteousness ruled and the fallen were forever damned.

It was, of course, a product of the times and of the man. And however nonsensical it may appear in retrospect, the delusion lives on in the hearts of millions of Christians 2000 years later.

The Jesus Delusion is a giant stepping stone to the truth of the matter…for those with the courage to take the step.

Further information:

http://robertmacklin.com/jesusdelusion.php

Published by BWM Books

ben@bwmbooks.com

Tinnitus - The Hidden Scream

Tuesday,Nov 01, 2011 06:35 am

By Robert Macklin

I call it ‘the hidden scream’. The correct medical term is Tinnitus and it is affecting an increasing number of Australians of all ages. Indeed, the latest figures suggest that victims are getting younger. And with the population ageing

I have been a sufferer for about seven years; it’s getting worse with each passing month; there are times when I think I’m about to reach the end of my tether.

When that happens, the scream won’t be hidden anymore. I will open my mouth and shriek to the heavens, anything for a moment’s surcease. All that holds me back is the knowledge that it will do no good at all. When the bellowing dies, the hidden scream will still be there, like a hundred cicadas trapped inside my skull.

That’s when I thank goodness for our firearms regulations. I would be terribly tempted to blast them with a shotgun.

I first heard of the disease about 20 years ago when I interviewed the famous Australian soprano, June Bronhill. It had effectively destroyed her singing career; at the time she was reduced to performing simple ballads in small nightclubs. Soon afterwards she ceased singing altogether.

I have since learned that the same condition struck down Barbra Streisand. Indeed, the list of famous people who have been victims of the hidden scream is very impressive. It includes Beethoven, Schumann, Howard Hughes and Vincent Van Gogh.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

It begins when you wake each morning and when you retire at night it fills the darkness. I find some relief at my coastal weekender where the pounding of the surf seems to interfere with the soundwave pattern. When at home in Canberra we often play a CD - discovered by my dear, long-suffering wife - of a tropical storm and birdsongs. There’s another of a thunderstorm over Uluru but it’s not as effective and we’ve yet to find one of the rolling South Pacific breakers.

But the really agonising aspect is that the medical profession has let us down totally. They don’t know the cause; they have no idea how to cure it; and no one seems to be doing any worthwhile research.

Part of the reason is that it’s not seen as life-threatening (though Van Gogh might disagree) and doctors who don’t have it cannot know the torture we endure. So the research – and the funding – are devoted to other sexier areas where celebrities and politicians can parade their humanitarian concerns.

I had hoped that Australia’s leadership in cochlear implants and similar audio advances might lead to an effective treatment, but alas, nothing. Indeed, I try to avoid websites on the subject because that only leads to hyper-awareness of the scream itself.

Hard mental work, the more absorbing the better, is the choice I’ve made. The result is no fewer than eight books, two screenplays, scores of columns and articles in seven years. So I guess I have something to be thankful for.

I tried red wine and it was helpful at the time, but I soon realised there was no future in that so I gave it away. Now I just wait and hope.

And every day it gets that little bit harder.

robert@robertmacklin.com

Chemist shop assistants rude & unhelpful no longer

Tuesday,Jul 05, 2011 03:29 am

Regular readers will recall that a few months ago I complained about Canberra’s rude and unhelpful Chemist shop assistants. At the time it became something of a talking point and I received lots of rude and unhelpful emails.

So it’s only fair that I should report the remarkable change that has taken place – at least at those pharmacies that I regularly frequent. These days, I find, the assistants are without exception polite, pleasant and extraordinarily attentive.

This is no accident. As it happened, a new player arrived in town shortly after the article appeared in CityNews. They came, I believe, from Wagga Wagga and bought perhaps three pharmacies.

One of the owners contacted me and was kind enough to ask me to meet with him and expand a little on my experiences. I was happy to do so. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘You’re really not telling me anything new. We have noticed the same thing ourselves. And we’re going to fix it.’

He has been as good as his word. Some of the assistants might have been retrained but most have moved on and their place has been taken by the aforementioned pleasant young ladies with ready smiles and helpful manners.

So, I dips me lid. Nice one, sir. The Cooleman Court outlet in particular is a joy.

However, the question arises: where did the rejects go?

I think I have the answer. I reckon they were picked up immediately by the banks and given jobs in their loans departments.

Some of them are posing as men and they have gone straight to managerial positions. Others have clustered together in covens – especially in Woden – and taken over the entire department. And there they wait like spiders luring customers into their nets.

Once entangled you can struggle all you like. They watch and wait. One will zip in from time to time and take a drink of your lifeblood in the form of an interest payment; then she will go on holiday and another almost identical one will take her place.

The new one will have not the faintest idea of anything that has passed between yourself and her predecessor. So from Net Central you tell the story of your new venture – and the loan that has already been agreed in principle - for the fourteenth time. She nods and smiles and exposes her dripping fangs.

And all the while absolutely nothing happens. The documents are in Adelaide; her predecessor didn’t leave any note when she went to Bali for a month; the fault is never hers. In fact, you’re the problem because you just want something – anything – to occur.

If you get angry she says, ‘Please lower your voice, sir. They can hear you in Civic.’

‘Civic,’ you cry, ‘I wish they could hear me in Adelaide!’

‘Would you like to speak to the manager?’

‘You bet.’

But of course the manager is one of them.

I get so upset I come out in hives. Luckily, when I go to the Chemist shop for my calamine lotion there’s a very nice young lady awaiting.

The Master Chef curse

Tuesday,Jul 05, 2011 03:26 am

Thank God it’s over. I speak, of course, of Master Chef that reality television phenomenon that for some of us came far too close to reality itself.

You see, I’m the ‘babbling brook’ at our place; have been for the last few years while writing full time. It’s no hardship. In fact I quite enjoy planning the menu, shopping among friends at Coolamon Court and taking my time over the preparation each evening.

Or I did till Master Chef came along.

The change occurred slowly. At first my dear wife and I would chuckle over the foul-ups as Alvin or Luke went haywire (or Jimmy did yet another curry). And when they were doing an elimination test, we’d shout, ‘No, they’re chestnuts!’ or , ‘It’s saffron, saffron!’ with the rest of the country.

But then, when I dished up my latest creation of stew a la mode I’d notice a quizzical look.

‘What?’

‘It’s not really plated, is it?’

‘Plated?’

So soon I stopped ‘dishing up’ and started ‘plating’.

Didn’t mind. Not really. But then when I put up a perfectly ‘plated’ steak, she said, ‘No jus?’

‘Orange? Pineapple?

‘No. Jus!’

Next night we had lamb cutlets and jus. Not bad either.

But then one afternoon she called me out of the writing room and there was an upturned book carton on the kitchen table.

‘What’s this?’ I lifted it gingerly.

‘Mystery box,’ she cried. And sure enough there were all sorts of strange ingredients – bunches of herbs, tropical fruits, half a duck...

‘Gee,’ I said, ‘I thought sausages and mash...but I’ll give it a go.’

Wasn’t bad either. But that was just the beginning.

Nest week when I was planning a feast of rissoles she suddenly announced, ‘It’s a pressure test. The Fotheringales are coming; they’ll be here in 40 minutes.’

‘But there’s eight of them and they’re vegetarians.’

‘So, go to it,’ she said, sounding suspiciously like George. ‘You’ve got 35 minutes left!’

Ahhh!!

Next week was even worse. One morning just when I thought she’d settled down and would appreciate an old favourite – corned beef and carrots – she said, ‘Guess what?’

‘Oh no.’

‘Rupert and Tiffany and coming over tonight.’

‘Not Rupert, the king of the pumpkin scone?’

‘That’s the one,’ she said. ‘You’re going head to head. If you win you get immunity for a week.’

‘Bring it on,’ I said. ‘Piece of cake.’

Ah, if only...my batch was more like a piece of rock. The ladies oohed and ahhed over Rupert’s effort. ‘It’s the texture,’ said Tiffany. ‘Oh and the flavours,’ said my traitorous spouse. ‘You can’t beat those flavours.’

There was a moment when I had the awful feeling I was about to be shown the door, my time in the house over forever. I did, however, have one last trick up my sleeve. Next day I said, ‘If you’d prefer, you can always take over yourself.’

‘Oh no, she replied. ‘I think my job here is done.’

No idea what she meant. Anyway, tonight we’re having Zuccini Flowers filled with Minted Ricotta and Almond Gazpacho followed by a Coffee Brulee with just a touch of Grand Marnier jus...

The Rudd Downfall

Tuesday,Jul 05, 2011 03:25 am

Last Thursday was a nightmare. And not just for Kevin Rudd but for those of us who know and like him. As I watched him struggling with his emotions in that farewell address in the Prime Minister’s Courtyard, I was taken back to our many hours together as we traced his life from birth to the dizzy Prime Ministerial heights for my book, Kevin Rudd: The Biography.

When I began the research I had never met him before. And I felt instinctively that he lacked the common touch that would appeal to the broad Australian electorate. By the time it was completed I had changed my mind.

He was delightful company – witty, charming, immensely knowledgeable and with a very clear vision for Australia’s future. I also felt I understood the forces that drove him. They operate at two levels. On the one hand, he is deeply (even embarrassingly) religious. In that courtyard farewell, for example, he actually included ‘God’ among those he thanked for the assistance they had rendered him over his career.

At the second level, he was motivated by the dreadful anguish he suffered as an 11-year-old when his father died and he was suddenly homeless, having to sleep some nights in a small car by the roadside with his mother and elder sister. That experience haunted him; it made him almost fanatically determined to succeed in life, never again to be prey to the charity of the state or the church. And of course it was education that provided his pathway to that goal.

Indeed, by the time he reached university he had settled one goal: the Prime Ministership of his country. And no one knew that more clearly than the love of his life, Therese Rein whom he met at that time. When he told her, a few years later, she said, ‘I knew all along’.

The quest consumed him. And for 30 years every thought and action was directed to its realisation. When he finally achieved it, he could barely believe it. When I talked to him in his office at Parliament House after the election I had the sudden realisation that though it had been a hard and bruising campaign he felt he had not yet earned the Prime Ministership. Only concrete reforms would achieve that, so he tried to do everything at once to deserve the position.

There followed a mad scramble from one policy to another – all of them admirable but so rushed that their achievement passed in a blur - and in the context of a global financial crisis with the capacity to devastate the economy. Saving Australia from that should (and would) have been quite enough to deserve re-election. But not in the mind of this Nambour lad.

Unfortunately, like most religious souls he instinctively believes that authority is conferred from above, and that its dictates are virtually infallible. That is how he ran his office and his government – a terrible mistake in a party that is founded on the belief that real authority rises upwards from the people.

The impatience, the over-achievement and the pontifical modus operandi became a deadly combination. My one concern now is that he will not take time out to grieve. He must face the wreckage of his life’s ambition; only then will he find the necessary emotional stability to move on... preferably without recourse to some ghostly giant in the sky.

Are viewers of kiddie porn paedophiles?

Tuesday,Jul 05, 2011 03:19 am

The arrest of Collectors host Andy Muirhead brings into focus an issue that has troubled me for some time: the law that makes it illegal to watch something – anything – on your home computer.

Paedophilia is of course detestable. All those attacked are scarred for life. And what makes it even more terrible is that some of the children preyed upon can themselves become victims of the condition. Even if only a very small percentage of those attacked are so affected the spread becomes exponential. So the community is right in demanding an uncompromising response from the authorities.

But attacking children is different from watching kiddie porn on a computer, however despicable we may find the practice. The argument that by doing so the viewer becomes a participant in the crime has merit. I presume it costs money to access the sites and that rewards the vile creatures who create the material. It might even be said that it encourages them to seek out new victims.

Moreover, the viewers know they are breaking the law and have to use roundabout methods to access the sites.

Nevertheless, I do feel uncomfortable with the concept that some pathetic characters among us – victims of a psychological compulsion and probably the survivors of paedophile attacks themselves – should have their lives destroyed as a result of watching something on their computers.

For that is certainly what has happened to Andy Muirhead whom thousands of us have welcomed into our homes, and even our own Canberra Grammar School invited to speak to the boys about ‘success’. His life is effectively over. He might as well top himself right now. Yet there is no evidence so far presented that he ever interfered with a child.

So I wonder if there might not be a more measured – and effective – way of handling the issue.

Apparently the police have a highly sophisticated method of tracing these passive participants in the crime despite the sneaky barriers they erect. So having been alerted to their proclivities, would it not be more effective to put them under secret surveillance. If they are ‘active’ paedophiles, then they can be arrested and tried in open court.

But if their crime is only to watch, I suggest that is of a different order of criminality, one that does not deserve the effective ending of a life. In that case, I suggest, it would be preferable to develop a system whereby the offender is confronted by the police in confidence. He would suffer a very substantial mandatory fine and be required to reveal all aspects of his internet ring. He would also be warned that he was under surveillance. Any further offences and he would be charged in open court.

Alternatively, he could opt to fight the case in the public courts.

A Supreme Court judge would be appointed in each State and Territory jurisdiction to oversee all aspects of the police procedure.

I do hope this is not seen as going ‘soft on paedophiles’; but it is quite important in our society that the punishment fits the crime. I am concerned that there is more than a hint of witch burning surrounding the issue and in that atmosphere injustice is the rule rather than the exception.

I wonder if we are mature enough to open the subject for discussion.

robert@robertmacklin.com

The War on Drugs is Lost

Tuesday,Jun 28, 2011 06:01 am

How wonderfully refreshing it was to see retired ACT Supreme Court Judge Ken Crispin taking the case for drug reform into the public arena via the ABC’s 7.30 Report recently.

His arguments were not new. It has been clear for many years that the so called War on Drugs has not only been lost, it has been counter-productive. It has actually caused untold thousands around the world to become hooked on drugs when otherwise they would have spent their entire lives without the slightest interest in them.

The reason is that prohibition encourages the development of a pyramid selling system. As Judge Crispin put it, the addict gets sick of stealing to buy his drugs so becomes a dealer urging others into the habit to pay for his own. And the fact that it’s illegal only increases the temptation to young people passing through that stage in life where rebellion against authority is an attraction in its own right.

The result has been that the drug trade has become a worldwide phenomenon; heroin and cocaine are a fraction of the price they were 40 years ago when the ‘war’ began; entire states such as Mexico and Afghanistan have been utterly corrupted; drug lords and terrorist groups have found common cause; hundreds of thousands of police officials throughout the world have joined the enemy (for a price); and we’ve had to build lots of new jails – at an outrageous cost - to house all the POWs.

Yet in the face of such blindingly obvious facts no politician has been prepared to stand up for change. According to Judge Crispin, they fear the ‘law and order brigade’ and I’m sure that’s true. But for how much longer will this motley crew of right wing politicians and religious authoritarians be able to retain their control over the broader and more rational community?

Alas, at this stage there seems to be no end in sight. However, in today’s world things change very quickly and Australia has often been at the forefront – for example in ending the death penalty and in providing free needle exchange. In this case, what’s needed is once again a movement of people of good sense and goodwill to come together under a banner to change community perceptions.

The simple truth is that drug use is not a crime; it is a health problem. The solution is to decriminalise drugs and remove its rebellious cache. Instead of more jails we should be investing in state of the art rehab centres run by medical (as opposed to moralising) personnel.

We really can lead the way.

Judge Crispin has made a powerful case for action in his memoir The Quest for Justice. He has seen the issue from both sides and he has earned widespread community respect.

The real question now is whether he is prepared to lead a movement for change. Should he do so, I have no doubt that many Canberrans – including your columnist - would back him to the hilt.

robert@robertmacklin.com

Never trust a builder

Sunday,Jun 26, 2011 11:31 pm

Here’s a good rule of thumb: never trust a builder.

The Federal Government has certainly learned that lesson – to its cost – in the last 12 months.

First came the shonks in the ceiling insulation business. Peter Garrett made the mistake of thinking he could rely on the honesty and decency of people in the trade and it cost him his career. Sure, he’s still in Cabinet but don’t bet on his remaining there after the election. It will be years – if ever – before he recovers from the damage dealt to his reputation by the tradies who turned a genuinely good idea into a PR disaster for the government.

Then some of the more disreputable of their colleagues tried it on in the massive school building program. There they had a tougher overseer in Julia Gillard who built in several layers of oversight to identify the rip-off merchants. But even then there were enough to cause some embarrassment.

It’s pathetic really. Clearly there’s something about the building trade that attracts the Smart Alecs and lowlifes of society. And while the Rudd Government has suffered, the truth is that the real scandal can be sheeted home to its predecessor. For it was the Coalition that introduced the GST; and that has turned every builder in the land into a serial lawbreaker.

Just ask anyone who has had a building job done in the years since that wretched, regressive tax was introduced. They will tell you: there is one price ‘on the books’ and another for cash in hand. And according to my friends in high places this applies not only to the thousands of relatively small home renovations carried out each year but to the big construction jobs as well.

This ‘black economy’ is not only costing the tax office billions in GST avoidance, it is bringing the law of the land into disrespect. And no one is prepared to bell the cat.

Whether or not it is confined to the building industry is a moot point. I suspect that a government inquiry would reveal other areas of abuse.

Modern Men?

Sunday,Jun 26, 2011 11:27 pm

They are in their mid-30s – two good blokes - and they had hit off before me. They were heading down the first at Duntroon. I hurried to catch up. As I reached them, the taller one (Ben) was talking and I just caught the end of his sentence.

‘Green poo!’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ I puffed as I reached them. ‘How about those Raiders.’

They gave me a funny look. The older one (Rob) said, ‘Don’t tell me about it. It’s gone on for a couple of weeks at least.’

‘Years!’ I said. ‘After the Mal Maninga and Laurie Daly era it’s all been down hill...’

Ben interrupted. ‘It’s all to do with the milk.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘Is Canberra Milk still the sponsor?’

My ball had faded a little to the right so I had to leave them at that point. I wandered off into the rough to find it. ‘Not sure I’d blame the sponsor,’ I thought. But still, my playing partners were a different generation. They followed the footy and the Formula One racing much closer than I did.

They have both recently become fathers of lovely little baby girls. But that doesn’t bother us. On the golf course the differences in the generations just fades away...a bit like my drives.

My second shot was a beauty and we joined up again on the first green.

‘…really pumped,’ Ben was saying.

‘Yeah, me too,’ I said. ‘I hit the new rescue club. Didn’t have much room between those trees...’

Again, they ignored me.

‘Don’t tell me about it,’ said Rob.

‘Well, if that’s the way you feel about it,’ I thought, and quietly put away a 20-foot putt.

‘But it’s important to stick with it,’ Rob said.

‘You bet,’ I said. ‘If Webber had let all those failures get to him, he wouldn’t be racking up the points these days with Red Bull.’

‘It’s fuel,’ said Ben.

Really? I headed over to the second tee while they finished off their putts. I had thought all the F1 teams used the same mix. Apparently not. Ben had the formula down pat. I could hear him coming up behind me. ‘There’s triglycerides of palmitic and oleic acid,’ he said ‘There’s quite a large quantity of lipids such as vaccenic acid and conjugated linoleic acid...’

Fancy that, I thought as I lined up my 8 Iron for the par 3 second.

‘...creatine, amino acids and nucleotides...’

I addressed the ball then swung though, clipping it neatly and keeping my head down as it rose to its full height then flopped on to the green a metre from the pin.

‘Beautiful,’ said Rob.

‘Thanks,’ I replied (modestly).

‘…it’s the perfect natural formula,’ he said.

‘Yep, the old magic’s still there...’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘…some of the nucleotides have acrophases during the night,’ he said, ‘others during the day.’

‘Yes, I think I read that somewhere,’ said Ben. He turned to me. ‘Have you had your shot yet, Dad?’

It’s good to get out on the course with the boys once a week. They keep me up to date with the latest in the sporting arena.

robert@robertmacklin.com

The Death of Osama Bin Laden

Wednesday,Jun 22, 2011 12:13 am

The most intriguing aspect of the operation that ended with the death of Osama bin Laden is the timing. By President Obama’s own admission they had good intelligence concerning his whereabouts at least as far back as August 2010 – that’s a full ten months ago.

So, why the delay?

Presidents and Prime Ministers tell lies...not all the time, of course, just when it suits them. Their justification: It’s in ‘the national interest,’ and occasionally it is. But more often it’s in the leader’s political interest and after a very short time in office they tend to confuse the two.

For example, if in August last year you asked President Barack Obama: ‘Do you know the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden?’ He would say, ‘No.’ But all the evidence suggests that this is simply untrue.

At the time the Americans called the terrorist, ‘The Man Most Wanted’ but the last thing they wanted was to capture or kill him. They wanted him just where he was.

Their calculation was perfectly understandable. Once they had him in their sights they could follow his couriers, break his communication codes and gain a good understanding of the spread and extent of the Al Qaeda network.

However, after nearly a year they probably had all they needed. It has allowed them – and their allies – to take out key operational leaders in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Indonesia and most recently Iraq.

But now there was another vital factor to consider: Mr Obama’s re-election. And that, I suggest, is why they acted now.

It was important that they kill rather than capture the man. If brought to court, he would use his trial in the United States as a propaganda platform, ably assisted by some publicity seeking American lawyer (is there any other kind?) thereby playing into the hands of Al Qaeda recruiters.

But the truth is that Al Qaeda is now the bogeyman that governments use to frighten the citizenry. And if you doubt it, consider what has NOT happened during the war on terror.

How is it, for example, that they have not struck at our most vulnerable commodity – our water supply? It requires the insertion of only a minute amount of deadly poison in the dams and lakes that feed into the reticulation systems of any major Western city from London to New York to Canberra to kill untold thousands. And they are simply impossible to protect and defend.

Indeed, we barely try. I know this because recently I tested our Canberra storages. In broad daylight and armed with suspicious plastic buckets, I approached the water’s edge. Had I been a terrorist I could have poured deadly toxins into the dams till the cows came home; there wasn’t a security officer within cooee.

This, of course, is all good news. It looks as though we’ve had a big win.

The trouble is that in the interim governments have passed laws restricting our freedoms and built gargantuan security services; and they rather like the collective control that has over our lives.

So they will never actually declare victory and even a nice man like Barack Obama will continue to tell big fibs to his friends and allies.

robert@robertmacklin.com

The Character of Canberra

Wednesday,Jun 22, 2011 12:08 am

Canberra is in great danger of losing its unique character and arboreal heritage. The myopic dunderheads at the National Capital Authority are preparing us for their plan to sweep away the bushland between our town centres. They want to turn Canberra into just another ugly, medium-sized city.

And why? Because, they say, it will make for ‘more viable transport corridors’.

The NCA, now led by a Mr Gary Rake, is organising a public forum on 29 April, ostensibly to ‘guide a review’ of the city’s future planning with a ‘steering committee’ of the usual suspects. But the truth is that Mr Rake and his cohorts have already decided the direction they want to go. They are determined to ‘curb urban sprawl and support transport infrastructure investment.’

It is all part of the uglification of Canberra.

And it is dumb.

It has a superficial attraction for those who can think no further than next Tuesday. By ‘compacting’ Canberra we would reduce travel costs and – in theory at least – reduce the perennial losses on our bus service.

However, Mr Rake and his purblind associates are operating on the ridiculous presumption that essentially nothing will change in the way we go about our daily lives. But anyone with half an eye on the future can see that we are on the cusp of a revolution.

With the extraordinary communications technology developments already coming on stream – beginning with the national broadband network - our lives will be transformed. The economic madness of the daily lemming-like rush to and from places of work will be halted. The time is not far off when most of us will work from home; and that home is just as likely to be in Tuross as Canberra.

Sure, we will get together to press the flesh from time to time. But that will not be in horrible, boring office buildings but in more congenial purpose-built locations. The same general approach will apply to visits to the doctor, the accountant, the lawyer (though, alas the dentist’s torture chamber will remain unavoidable). Most of our visits will take place from the communications and entertainment room in our homes.

Those ridiculous big buses will be replaced (as they should be now) with a much more flexible system of minivans. They will still lose money but not nearly as much as the present system.

More and more, the nearby bushland will be an essential element in our way of life – for calming walks, for recreation and communal gathering.

But here’s the point: if we allow Mr Rake and his clique to steamroll us into tearing down the bushland for more monstrous O’Malleys and ghastly Gordons, there’s no going back.

Walter Burley Griffin’s vision will have been trashed. Canberra will have lost its uniqueness and been uglified for no reason at all. Indeed, the horrible McMansions will stand in the way of our making the kind of thoughtful development that science and technology offers for a truly engaging and satisfying future.

Think again, Mr Rake.

robert@robertmacklin.com

Gallipoli

Wednesday,Jun 22, 2011 12:03 am

Gallipoli is an enigma at the heart of the Australian psyche. The initial idea – from Winston Churchill - was for a naval thrust through the Dardanelles and when that failed the hastily assembled ‘Plan B’ was storming the slopes. The result was a disaster. Nearly 8000 young Australians were killed before British High Command called the whole thing off and the survivors silently stole away.

It was an ignominious defeat yet we celebrate it as a vital element of what it means to be an Australian. And though I have written two books and edited another that touch on the Gallipoli campaign, the true meaning of Anzac has often seemed just out of reach.

As my generation was entering our 20s we used to celebrate the fact that each year the march attracted fewer participants and spectators. That was the 1960s when the threat of nuclear war made Gallipoli seem like ancient history. Our fathers never talked about World War II; and the non-nuclear conflict of the day was Vietnam which only added to our revulsion of war in all its forms.

But as the nuclear threat died away and Vietnam passed into history, Anzac reasserted itself and to our astonishment young Australians began flocking to Gallipoli’s shore to pay homage to the fallen. I simply couldn’t understand why.

Then I read a book by Canberra’s Bill Gammage, first published in 1974 by the ANU Press. Titled The Broken Years, it drew upon the letters, the diaries and the memories of the men themselves, but gathered and edited in such a way that in the reading you were back there on those blood stained, fly-blown hills sharing the horror, the terror, the rage and the blessed relief to be alive when the battle was done.

But of course, that was just the beginning of the nightmare. The Anzacs reformed their battalions, absorbed the reinforcements, farewelled Johnny Turk and headed for the real enemy: the Germans on the Western Front.

The edition I read was a paperback which somehow seemed unworthy of its great events and powerful themes. Since then it has never been out of print and – despite the penny-pinching publishers - it has become a genuine Australian classic.

Now, at last, it has received the treatment it so richly deserves. Melbourne University Publishing has created an illustrated edition that is one of the finest examples of the publisher’s art that I have ever encountered. The photos are quite magnificent and beautifully displayed; the maps are a model of clarity, and the design will unquestionably win awards…and all for an astonishing $50.

But the real value of the book lies in the text. For the first time in my experience it reveals the reason for the centrality of the Anzac myth in the Australian psyche – not in a single phrase or paragraph, but when you close the final page you just know.

In the epilogue, Bill Gammage writes, ‘The Great War brought change to the outlook of Australians…for while the boundless eagerness of August 1914 is a world removed from our present time, what began to happen on Gallipoli nine months later is with us yet.’

It is indeed.

robert@robertmacklin.com

What women want?

Tuesday,Jun 21, 2011 11:21 pm

A survey in the New York Times the other day revealed that while women are wealthier, healthier and better educated than they were 30 years ago they are not as happy as they had been then. In fact, in those halcyon days of the 1970s they were happier than men; and today the situation is reversed! As ever, the story will be similar in Australia. So how could it be?

Women – and not just the radical feminists - will tell you the reason is simple: all that really happened in the interim, they reckon, is that women not only joined the workforce in much greater numbers but they continue to do all the things they used to do around the home while their slobby hubbies open another beer and watch the footy on the box.

No doubt there are still pockets of society where that’s true but in my experience the real causes of this happiness reversal are quite different. Truth is, these days men are taking a very much greater role in the home.

Take cooking. In the 70s the only time a bloke confronted a raw chop was when he tossed it on the barbecue. Today in most homes the man of the house volunteers for some of the regular cooking and not infrequently does the lot. Certainly that happens in our house and of our two sons, one does it all while the other shares the burden (if burden it is) with his partner...the more so since she’s become pregnant. And when we dine with friends it’s just as likely we’ll find the man as chef du soir as the lady of the house.

Of course the cook does the marketing – Woollies and the weekend markets are filled with men shoppers these days – and he puts it all away where he can find it. And it doesn’t stop there…though I must admit when it comes to cleaning the place one does find other pressing men’s business. But clearly, planning the meals and cooking, a big part of the weekly housework, actually raises the happiness quotient among men and eases the burden on women.

So we have to look elsewhere for the reason for their drooping morale. The real issue, I reckon, is that we have not yet figured out the best way for women to combine home life and career. It’s all in the timing. Today they go from school to gap-year to university, into the workforce, rise up the ladder, then have kids just before it becomes too dodgy and put the career on hold. So they lose seniority, stress happens, hubby gets fed up and it all starts to go pear-shaped.

The solution is simple. Instead of a gap year after school, women should be encouraged have a gap decade after university to find their bloke, pop out two or three kids while doing some light post-graduate and/or mainstream work via the Net. They then enter the fulltime workforce at 30, now highly qualified and with the kids off to school. With their modern man taking over the cooking and marketing there’ll be happiness in the home, joy in bed, and just watch that glass ceiling shatter.

I mean, how easy is that?

robert@robertmacklin.com