I don't know but I've been told/My views on the military are stupidly complicated

Eh – so it’s been Anzac Day and while I spent most of the day preparing for a five year old’s birthday party, I have however spent some time yesterday thinking about the military. I didn't manage to get anyone particularly offside with my post about religion, so I'll have another crack, shall I?

Now before you read on, you need to know the following about my bias:

1. I am an out-and-out pacifist, and being a keen fan of talking, believe that diplomatic solutions are almost always best.

2. As a teenager I found the concept of the military in a post-Cold War age hard to fathom. I'm not sure what I think now.


3. I think that the history of war suggests that countries have often engaged in warfare on a faulty or flawed premise.

Anyway, I have the following stories to share:

There’s something happening here/But what it is ain’t exactly clear

Last year, my uncle rang my mother to say that after a lifetime of voting Liberal, he was changing his vote for the Federal election. How did this happen? Well, it was partly due to the fact that my cousin is in the ADF, and his rotation through Iraq was due this year. My uncle told my mother that he would do anything to keep his son out of Iraq, and had changed his view on that war dramatically as the evidentiary base for the war unraveled and also as it became clear, in my uncle’s eyes, that there was not anything approaching “peace” in the country. Regardless of this view however, he was in the unique position to cast his vote based on both self interest (“saving” his son) AND personal morality (“is the war really justified?”). In this sense, my uncle is quite the demographic anomaly.

People get ready/There’s a train a-coming

When my mother was a girl, she and her family used to follow, in an eerily macabre way, the calling of the draft. National Service conscription dictated that a proportion of young men would be drafted into the army, based on the date of their 20th birthday. My grandparents, who were good if conservative people*, were convinced that my mother's eldest brother being called up would “make a man of him”. My grandfather had himself served in World War II, and was of the view that my uncle’s life lacked purpose and direction, no doubt was also concerned about A being caught up with the emerging boomer-led hippy movement. The week that A's month was being balloted, all grew increasingly nervous. When my grandfather confirmed that A had not been called up, he went to his bedroom and quietly sobbed with relief.

And I would rather be anywhere else but here today

My father on the other hand, who only just squeezed into the qualifying time-span for national service, took a different approach. He found himself a cave in the Dandenongs and took a bunch of canned spaghetti and baked beans out there. His plan was to await the letter from the Service, then bolt for the hills. I am always somewhat bemused by this story, although at the same time it was part of my sense of my father's principle, and no doubt has informed my own pacifism. Presumably some would take this as evidence of my dad’s lack of patriotism, sense of duty and service (and possibly suggested that he had seen ‘Hair’ one too many times). But he had a plan, and if there is one thing of which my dad is proud, it is his forward planning.

Save the people/save the children/save the country

Parents of my mum’s friend D took a different approach again. They went through the courts, at significant expense, to have their son registered as a conscientious objector. This was the truth – D was a fiery anti-Vietnam campaigner, but as a university student he would have lacked the funds to do this himself – he was lucky to have a lawyer dad and a social activist mum who could assist him.

But there’s no danger/It’s a professional career

Meanwhile, another friend of Mr Fix’s mum tells the story that National Service changed him for the better. It should be noted that he saw no active service (although he was in Vietnam, he was well to the “back”). He speaks philosophically about what it did for him as an individual, and saw more than one person permanently (and often negatively) by that war. I can't help but wonder what kind of pragmatism was applied by those who were forced to fight against their will, and whether this had a greater psychological impact than for those who had willingly gone to war.


And then I’ve been thinking about a whole other level of the military: moral justification. My cousin has been to East Timor, PNG and the Solomons. He has done humanitarian rebuilding work in the Pacific. He is, as I understand it, reasonably senior and enjoys his work (which, in his “defence”**, is not so much about pointing guns at people).

I don’t know if he supports the war in Iraq, but I DO know, without even asking, that he would not tell me if he didn’t. Several people I have seen discuss the use of the military in various situations have suggested that soldiers and auxillary personnel are unencumbered by notions of the morality of war – that they are motivated by their duty to serve, and the rights and wrongs of the decision to send a country to a war zone are made by others in the political arena. That may well be true, but does that mean they are utterly devoid of an opinion?

So I’ve been wondering: what difference does it make whether a war is justified? Does it make a difference to the families left behind? Would people feel their child’s/father’s/brother’s death more meaningful if it occurred in “the good fight”, rather than a pointless war of dubious motivation? Is it wrong to even be asking this question?



* I’m well aware that this may come across as an unfairly judgmental view of my grandparents– I’m sure that many people of their generation took a similar stance, which would have been the cultural norm.

** Oh yeah, I’ll bring the punny

If you were a vampire, then baby I'm the walking dead

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT THE 2020 SUMMIT, WHICH BY ALL ACCOUNTS WAS AWESOME WITH A CAPITAL "AWES"

So I’ve got a bit of a bee in my bonnet at the moment. And that bee is called “democracy”, and it’s buzzing around my head so loudly that it’s difficult to hear anything else*.

See, I love a bit of democracy. I think it’s ace. I’m quite the fan of process, and being heard, and all that kind of gear.

What I like less is imitation democracy, or what I’ll now term as “faux-dem”. Faux-dem seems rife at the moment (Zimbabwe, Qantas, etc) and is often expressed in terms of a process or policy which would seem to imply democracy, but is effectively there to diminish the possible charges of dictatorship.

How to spot faux-dem: a beginner’s guide

1. Constant use of the word “I” in discussions (genuine democracy usually starts with “we”)

2. Grand gestures which would be completely unnecessary in an authentic community

3. Attempts to diminish the role of particular individuals or groups (e.g. “well, feminists – they don’t represent anyone, therefore it’s not important to listen to them”)

4. Observation of the process as far as is necessary (turning up to meetings, taking queries from constituents) but no delivery of outcomes, and complete disregard for learnings gained from such process

5. Animal Farm-esque appointment of generals to shield leaders from real circumstances

6. Use of the phrase “what people have to understand”, with the implication being that in fact, the person using the phrase knows all, while everyone listening is stupid


Believe it or not, I’d actually prefer a dictatorship to faux-dem. What makes people unhappy in an environment with a process and a system which is not being observed is that they have been tricked into thinking that they have an equal right to participate.

The other benefit of a dictatorship is that it tends to give a lot more legitimacy to activity that evens the playing field for those who are unrepresented. While you have structures in place to be pointed to in times of difficulty (“See? We have a Supreme Court, I don’t know what more you want,” etc) then you also do damage to the legitimate concerns raised and then ignored in those processes.

I feel like I’m coming over all Bakunin here, but I have been deeply disappointed lately by the effectiveness of supposedly democratic processes in my immediate vicinity and beyond.

I’m not sure what to do about it, short of perch myself prettily atop a heap of dead Frenchmen, waving a tricolour.

Or maybe I just need a second cup of coffee.


* Anyone who wants to “involuntary” me on the basis that I have an invisible talking bee friend called “Democracy” and am wearing a colonial-style sunhat in April can pretty much get bent.

Some people pop a pill, when they feel exposed/As long as I'm dressed to kill, I'll make sure no one knows

Dear All,

Duly instructed in last post's comments by Mex, who claims that the best way to get around a blogging funk is to just blog about any damn thing, I put the following in your percolator to see if it comes out brown.

Quentin Bryce. So I might have actually said that I would fly to Canberra to lick Kevin Rudd as he demonstrated such good taste in Vice-Regal appointments. Then again, I may not have said that. Have been a little disturbed that a woman with such impeccable credentials is still being described foremost as some one who is very well dressed.

But then, these are the same media outlets asking the question (post-appointment) if “Australia is ready for a woman Governor-General”). How very 1965! One might argue that, if we’re not, it’s a bit bloody late for that question, is it not?

Weekend away in the mountains was delightful, if exhausting. I failed to eat my own body weight in marshmallows, but this would have been hard to achieve in the best circumstances as I only bought two regular sized bags (unless I have some kind of body dysmorphic disorder, I was doomed to fail). I did have four or five though, burned to a crisp on the excellent stick found for me by Grizzlewick.

The camping trip was also the first outing of Mr Fix's new band, which I believe is now on hiatus after performing eight songs to a crowd of family and friends. It was quite enjoyable to listen to live music that I didn't even have to leave "the house" for. Although Mr Fix was somewhat outraged by the serving of cheese and biscuits that went on in the background - as he pointed out there is nothing particularly "rock" about that.

Managed to indulge my latent pyromania by appointing myself Grand Fire-keeping Poo-Bah and dragging tree trunks up the hill repeatedly. At one stage I was chastened as doing “the men’s work”, but that got a “PFFFFFFTTT!” reaction that frightened away the national park’s entire stock of skittish birds and mammals. Like boys are the only ones who can lift logs. Caused raised eye-brows by harumphing the largish hunks of wood over to unsuspecting fellow campers and muttering "My log has something to tell you". Honestly, you'd think it was over 15 years since Twin Peaks was on television or something.

While not even drunk, I managed to insult a relatively new friend by revealing to him that I don’t listen to his show. I like to think that makes me refreshingly honest. But I suspect it makes me a rude cow.

I am, it appears, utterly brilliant at Articulate. Unfortunately, my friends K and H are more awesomely brilliant than me, so even my fourth round record breaking score of 6 was not enough to evade their triumphant finish. Also I now know who William Booth is*.

I spent some of the weekend contemplating a Masters Degree on the Medici. I’m not convinced that with no Italian or Latin whatsoever this would be easily achieved. Although I might get to go on several awesome (tax-deductible) trips to Florence, which would be quite “awes”. My friend W has offered to coach me should I want to appear on the Einstein Factor with the Medici as my special subject. However, I believe there are probably better/easier ways to get close to Barry Jones. Joining the ALP, for example.

My boy walked all the way up the-incredibly-inappropriately-named mini-mountain Picaninny and back without requiring adult assistance. Twice. What a trooper. On the other hand, he ended the weekend by beating against me with his little fists after throwing a temper tantrum that was the result of exhaustion and lack of food (he refused to eat because he was “too busy having fun”). This was very upsetting.

In other news….

Olympians wouldn’t have found themselves at risk of a poison plot if they had accepted, as I have, that there is NOTHING HEALTHY ABOUT MUFFINS. What are called muffins these days are ostensibly cupcakes. Had those little Aussie battlers chosen a good old celery stick with peanut butter mashed inside topped with sultanas, they would not need to worry about hidden metal. Well, not unless some one ingenious inserted ball bearings into the sultanas.

I found one of my favourite coats – at the dry cleaners. Having delivered it there with two other pieces of clothing, I managed to forget totally that it was there. For a year. Well, at least it’s back now.

I’m contemplating having my hair cut into a 20s-style bob, but am ever-so-slightly concerned that Posh Spice might be deemed to be my inspiration. For the info of readers, the minute she is my inspiration for anything, I’ll let you know.

The Age is reporting that Tassie’s Cadbury factory is ceasing its public tours. It’s probably not before time. When I went there as a 12 year old, a huge vat of Turkish Delight filling was spilled down the stairs, proving the point that those little paper hats they make you wear are largely decorative. Now that’s what I call a sticky situation, etc. Also, people are so inevitably overloaded with chocolatey goodness from the tour that the thought of buying any chocolate is thoroughly sick-making, something I’m sure hasn’t escaped the notice of Cadbury executives.

And things are looking up. It appears that people are listening after all. I await with interest a meeting to be held tomorrow and hope that it won’t descend to the level of finger-pointing and John Howard-isms like “what people have to understand”. A couple of my mates seem very upbeat about this, and they are the kind of friends in a position to accurately read the alpha-getti letters in the workplace soup. Would be nice to think that things on that front might settle down.

Here's hoping the cosmos is realigning.

Love,

gigglewick

* the founder of the Salvation Army, for those who didn’t know.

"Lisa, honey, the point of Moby Dick is 'be yourself'"

So it mightn't surprise anyone to learn that I'm feeling grumpy.

I don't know if it's something in the cosmos, or just something in me, but I am scratchily dissatisfied at the moment. Related, but not entirely responsible for my malaise are:

1. I have recently reached a milestone of sorts in my work and I'm finding it difficult to get enthused about the next bit. My closest colleague is similarly uninspired. The office is not a particularly fun place to be at the moment.

2. One of my friends is being bullied by an idiot.

3. I spent the best part of a week cleaning up for a visit from a relative, only to find that she seemed vaguely irritated that I didn't take time off work to hang out with her (with only a week's warning, time off was not possible). She also spent the entire time she was at our house commenting on the difficulty she would have getting home as it was so far away. I smiled. And smiled and smiled.

4. I am constantly irritated by how little emphasis is put on relationship-building by people around me. There are a couple of people I see regularly in work-related scenarios who seem to have no idea what a stakeholder is.

5. I think I'm about to miss a deadline.

6. When I finished up with work before my break, I thought to myself "Yeah, that's awesome, because I'm feeling shitty and by the time I get back I'll be re-energised and happy". I was grumpy again by 8:32am, having arrived early to clear my email in-box.

7. There's some sadness going on around me that I won't exploit on this blog. But know that I am thinking about it, and if there is any kind of spiritual back rub to be given, I am offering it to those who do and don't read this.

8. I was really pleased about all the positive feedback I was getting about work, until I countenanced the possibility that no one has any idea what I do.

9. Blog friends feeling similarly uninspired or low.

10. First kidney infection in about nine years threatening. Crabby about this too, and don't want to end up in hospital again, seeing as it pretty much ruined my year(s) the first four times. A word of caution to others: if nurses tell you that the antibiotic they're about to give you might send you blind, so you should "just tell us if your vision goes wobbly", that is the time to run. Of course, if you've got a double kidney infection and happen to be attached a drip and still awaiting pain medication, running out of the question. So instead, just resist the temptation to squint.


But because I don't feel like it's cool to be bad-o-rama, let's think about this:

1. My bike = still totally awesome.

2. Grizzlewick = hilarious.

3. Mr Fix just went and bought me a Snickers. Without even being asked. Is he lovely or what?

4. Going camping on the weekend - cabins at a camping place we used to go almost every school holidays when I was a kid. Pretty excited.

In fact, some one call Oprah because the action of writing that short list of good stuff has made me feel a wee bit better. If you'll excuse the pun.

So what else is going on?