Cinema

Gadfly 233 By Robert Macklin I don’t believe in miracles, either literally or figuratively. But sometimes there’s a conjunction of events so in tune with the times that it feels like some wondrous conspiracy of perfection. I don’t mean the election result, but rather the down-to-earth components that permitted it, beginning with the greatest single bulwark of our political stability, the Australian Electoral Commission. They administer Australia’s preferential which is the best in the world. But their task is much bigger than that. It helps that voting is compulsory; and we wouldn’t change that for anything. The contenders don’t have to worry about getting out the vote; and it lessens the influence of the fanatical fringe groups. But it does mean that the AEC has an enormous logistical task in establishing polling booths within easy reach to voters across an entire Continent, and to staff them with pleasant and knowledgeable folk to guide us through the process. And with Covid-19 once again on the rise they must mask and protect both them and the voters. Our own experience, I suspect was fairly typical. Maybe we got a little lucky in parking right beside the modest queue at our grand daughters’ school. But as usual the ‘how to vote’ volunteers were perfectly polite. We waited no more than 20 minutes before reaching the entrance, where we were each given a short, sharpened pencil and directed to one of at least four separate queues. Ours led to a friendly woman who found the confusing surname (which follows Mac not Mc) in a trice; then repaired to one of 12 cardboard booths to mark all the squares where the biggest question was who to put last. Then came the ‘declaration’ as we completed the vote, and I asked the lady collecting the pencils if I could keep mine as a souvenir. ‘Of course you can,’ she smiled. Back in the open air in multicultural Canberra, there were irresistible ‘democracy dumplings’ on offer, and I also took a sausage for old times’ sake. Then it was home with a glow of pride and the purchase of a bottle of champus for one result, shiraz for another. Meanwhile, the wonderful AEC was preparing the count that in lesser hands would be like plunging into a vat of live octopuses and adding up the suckers on all eight limbs. Instead, when 6 o’clock rolled round and Leigh Sales appeared with her hornrims at the ready, Antony Green fired up his amazing touch screen, and David Speers played with his red and blue squares –and brown in the middle – while Tanya Plibersek and Simon Birmingham, the human faces of their parties settled in. That’s when we started counting the times someone said, ‘But these are only early figures…’ while odds on the shiraz shortened and the champers started to sweat. Tassie looked crook, Western Sydney worse, especially in Fowler. Country booths rolled in, and they were awful. Tanya was ‘hopeful’, whatever the hell that meant. Simon was insouciant…and that looked scary. But then, as those Teal women mounted their charge on the Morrison ramparts, the AEC (unlike Antony) was totally unfazed. Up went the figures and they just kept rising. Labor was making gains, but ‘minority’ became a catchword, until just after nine the Cavalry came roaring in from the West. That’s when, I suspect, the champus corks hit the ceilings over much of Canberra. But not in the counting houses of the AEC public servants. They had a job to do: preserving our democracy with what someone called ‘bits of paper.’ robert@robertmacklin.com

Reading—A beer with Baz Bazza swivelled as a chuckle reverberated around the bar with the odd whistle. Mick waved away the a en on as he took his seat at the bar table and greeted Bazza. He took a good sip of his full schooner and rubbed his freshly shaven head.

“Yeah….yeah…..righto, Bazza. I lost a bet with young Qiang up the street. She said I had to shave my head if ScoMo lost the elec on.”

“And no glasses, Mick……. and by gee, I think you might of dropped a couple of kilos…….. You’re married to a lucky woman.”

“I’m trying out these new contact lenses, but I’m not sure if they’re improving my vision. As for the wife, she reckons I look like a thug…… but she can handle that, as long as I work on my a tude…….Can you believe that?”

Bazza took in a breath to conceal a smile.

‘Sounds like the women in your life have spoken, Mick.” Mick gave his shaven head a long rub. “We’ll see about that, Bazza……. but it’s good bye ScoMo, and Joshy for that ma er, so you will be a bit stuffed for smart arse comments.”

Bazza sighed and took in Mick’s bald head for a long moment, un l Mick’s barking dog had the patrons complaining. Mick dropped a couple of exple ves, walked over to the pub door and yelled “Shut up, Barny…….you’re a bloody embarrassment.” “I’d get rid of that dog, Bazza, except it’s so bloody a ached to me. You know…..it pissed all over my leg last Saturday. Anyhow…… let’s talk about the football.” Bazza nodded and they both took long sips. “I’m finished with the Cronulla Sharks, Bazza. They are just too so . They lack the toughness and hardness for the big games ahead……. I’m going to back in the Brisbane Broncos.”

Bazza let out a long, low whistle. “That’s a big call, Mick. Toughness and hardness eh, Mick? Well, it suits your new look. ” Mick cursed as Barny again started howling for a en on.

Have a beer with Bazza at john.longhurst59@gmail.com

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From myths, to art, history and everything in between.

Winter is a perfect me to take up a foreign language, learn to draw, dabble in history or classical Greek myths. You have three months ahead to develop an en rely new and fabulous passion for something you never had me to pick up before. What will this Winter bring?

Harvard Commencement Speech - Democracy, disinforma on and kindness RT HON JACINDA ARDERN , May 27th, 2022 E oku manukura, nga pou haemata o te ngahere. e Piko o Te Mahuri, tera te pu o te rakau. E pu, e rea, ka puta, ka ora. Tena koutou katoa. President Bacow, Provost Garber, Governing Boards and deans, And most importantly, graduates. In Te Reo Māori, the language of the indigenous people of New Zealand, I paid tribute to all of the esteemed guests who stand here in this great forest of knowledge. It is a privilege to be here, and I thank you for the honour. There are some moments in life that make the world feel small and connected. This is not one of them. I am used to walking into a room in New Zealand and knowing at least someone. It is one of the beau ful and comfor ng aspects of living in a small country. And while this moment feels incredibly daun ng to me right now, I do take comfort knowing there are around 30 New Zealanders studying here, and sta s cally at least one of them will be my cousin. But then there are some moments that serve to remind you, that despite distance, despite vastly different histories and experiences, there are many things that connect us. In June 1989 the Prime Minister of Pakistan stood on this spot and delivered the commencement address: tled “Democra c na ons must unite.” She spoke about her journey, the importance of ci zenry, representa ve government, human rights, and democracy. I met Benazir Bhutto in Geneva in June of 2007. We both attended a conference that drew together progressive parties from around the world. Just seven months later she was assassinated. There will be opinions and differing perspec ves wri en about all of us as poli cal leaders. Two things that history will not contest about Benazir Bhu o. She was the first Muslim female Prime Minister elected in an Islamic country, when a woman in power was a rare thing. She was also the first to give birth in office. The second and only other leader to have given birth in office almost 30 years later, was me. My daughter, Neve Te Aroha Ardern Gayford, was born on the 21st of June 2018. Benazir Bhu o’s birthday. The path she carved as a woman feels as relevant today as it was decades ago, and so too is the message she shared here. In this place. She said part way through her speech in 1989 the following: “We must realise that democracy… can be fragile.” I read those words as I sat in my office in Wellington, New Zealand. A world away from Pakistan. And while the reasons that gave rise for her words then were vastly different, they s ll ring true. Democracy can be fragile. This imperfect but precious way that we organise ourselves, that has been created to give equal voice to the weak and to the strong, that is designed to help drive consensus – it is fragile. For years it feels as though we have assumed that the fragility of democracy was determined by dura on. That somehow the strength of your democracy was like a marriage – the longer you’d been in it, the more likely it was to s ck. But that takes so much for granted. It ignores the fact that the founda on of a strong democracy includes trust in ins tu ons, experts and government – and that this can be built up over decades but torn down in mere years. It ignores that a strong democracy relies on debate and dialogue, and that even the oldest regimes can seek to control these forums, and the youngest can seek to liberate them. It ignores what happens, when regardless of how long your democracy has been tried and tested – when facts are turned into fic on, and fic on turned into fact, you stop deba ng ideas and you start deba ng conspiracy. It ignores the reality of what we are now being confronted by every single day. Where I come from, we have a parliamentary representa ve democracy. Without giving you a litany of fun

Reading—RT HON JACINDA ARDERN facts on New Zealand you’re unlikely to need again – here’s the brief version. We have a Mixed Member Propor onal system, which essen ally means every vote counts, and it’s ensured our parliament be er reflects our communi es. Almost 50 percent of our parliament are women, 20 percent are Māori, the indigenous people of New Zealand, and our Deputy Prime Minister is a proud gay man and sits amongst several other rainbow parliamentarians. In the past ten years we have passed laws that include everything from the introduc on of gay marriage and the banning of conversion therapy, right through to embedding a 1.5 degree climate change target into law, banning military style semi-automa cs and assault rifles, and the decriminalisa on of abor on. These are significant issues, and they have not been without debate and difference. But they are all examples of where we have navigated mes of deep change, without, for the most part, leaving deep ri s. But we have also seen the opposite. Whether it’s democra c elec ons that erupt into violence, or the COVID crisis exposing mistrust of experts, ins tu ons and governments – western democracies are seeing it and experiencing examples and New Zealand is no different. Now I will admit to some trepida on entering a discussion on how we strengthen our democracies when this issue is so easily and wrongly distorted into being opposed to free speech. But that fear is overshadowed by a greater fear of what will happen to our democracies, if we don’t act to firm up their founda ons. If we don’t find once again our ability to argue our corners, yes with the passion and fire that convic on brings, but without the vitriol, hate and violence. If we don’t find a way to ensure difference, that space where perspec ves, experiences and debate give rise to understanding and compromise, doesn’t instead become division – the place of entrenchment, where dialogue departs, solu ons sha er, and a crevice between us becomes so deep that no one dares cross to the other side. We are at a precipice, and rather than ask what caused it, today I want to talk about how we address it. Now I am not an academic. I acknowledge, the robes on this occasion aren’t exactly truth in adver sing. Rather, I am a poli cian from Morrinsville. As a point of geographic reference, it’s right next to Hobbiton. I’m not actually joking. But in that small rural town of 5000 people where I spent most of my forma ve years and will forever love for what it gave me, I lived in that important space that sits between difference and division. I was raised a Mormon in a town where the dominant religions were Catholic, Anglican and Rugby. I was a woman interested in poli cs, le wing poli cs, in a region that had never in its en re democra c history, elected anyone other than a conserva ve candidate. These differences were a part of my iden ty, but never a source of isola on. But I am old. And unques onably, things have changed. In fact, mine is the genera on that sat on the cusp of the internet age. I remember the first person in my school who had access to the internet. Her name was Fiona Lindsay and her father was the local accountant. A er he had shut the office for the day, we would get the key and log onto his massive desktop computers, with screens so wide that the desks were ered to fit the whole thing in. It was the 1990s. The interface and even what you used the internet for in those days was different. For a me it was almost as if the directory for this vast landscape didn’t exist. It was a modern ham radio. You would dial in, and talk to someone. Anyone. It was the spontaneity of connec on that in some ways mirrored real life. But as the opportuni es to connect expanded, humans did what we have always done. We organised ourselves. Social media pla orms were born offering the promise of connec on and reconnec on. We logged on in our billions, forming tribes and sub tribes. We published our thoughts, feelings and ideas freely. We found a place to share informa on, facts, fic on dressed up as facts, memes, and more cat videos than you ever thought possible. We found a place to experience new ways of thinking and to celebrate our difference. But increasingly, we use it to do neither of those things. I doubt anyone has ever created a group tled “poli cal views I disagree with, but choose to enter into respec ul dialogue with to be er understand alterna ve perspec ves.”

As humans, we are naturally predisposed to reinforce our own views, to gather with people like us and avoid the dreaded sense of cogni ve dissonance. We seek valida on, confirma on, reinforcement. And increasingly with the help of algorithms, what we seek, we are served, some mes before we even know we’re looking. Now I am not here to argue that social media is good, nor bad. It’s a tool. And as with anything, it’s the rules of the game and the way we engage with it that ma ers. But social media ma ers a lot. And perhaps, much more than we thought. On the 15th of March 2019, 51 people were killed in a terrorist a ack on two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand. The en re brutal act was live-streamed on social media. The royal commission that followed found that the terrorist responsible was radicalised online. In the a ermath of New Zealand’s experience, we felt a sense of responsibility. We knew we needed significant gun reform, and so that is what we did. But we also knew that if we wanted genuine solu ons to the issue of violent extremism online, it would take government, civil society and the tech companies themselves to change the landscape. The result was the Christchurch Call to Ac on. And while much has changed as a result, important things haven’t. The me has come for social media companies and other online providers to recognise their power and to act on it. That means upholding their own basic terms of service. That means recognising the role they play in constantly cura ng and shaping the online environments that we’re in. That algorithmic processes make choices and decisions for us – what we see and where we are directed – and that at best this means the user experience is personalised and at worst it means it can be radicalised. It means, that there is a pressing and urgent need for responsible algorithm development and deployment. We have the forums for online providers and social media companies to work on these issues alongside civil society and governments. And we have every reason to do it. Let’s start with transparency in how algorithmic processes work and the outcomes they deliver. But let’s finish with a shared approach to responsible algorithms – because the me has come. But tech companies, they are only part of the answer. What we do as individuals in these spaces ma ers too. Our willingness to recognise our own preconceived ideas. The level of cri que we apply to what we engage with. And how we uphold our basic sense of humanity when interac ng with others. There’s a term that gets thrown around a lot – keyboard warrior. It’s used to refer to someone who makes aggressive or abusive posts online, o en anonymously. I like the name. In my mind, when I read something especially horrific on my feed, I imagine it’s wri en by a lone person unacquainted with personal hygiene prac ces, dressed in a poorly fi ed super hero costume – one that is baggy in all the wrong places. Keyboard warrior or not though, it’s s ll something that has been wri en by a human, and it’s something that has been read by one too. I ‘do’ my own social media. I always have. A er all, it has been described as the new ‘town square’. But we all know that it’s more than just news and informa on being shared these days. Recently I had the privilege of joining ex German Chancellor, Angela Merkel on a panel. I have long been in awe of her leadership, not least for her endurance. She was in power for 16 years. I once asked her how she managed it, her response was “things have changed a lot.” In the panel discussion, she reflected on some of that change, by commen ng that: “In the old days we had certain events that happened within our socie es, and television reported it, and the next day everyone talked about it.” Today, even that simple act has changed. What we consider to be mainstream media outlets have proliferated but ownership structures have not. Mainstream media have layers of accountabili es and journalis c expecta ons that others, who also present informa on to us, don’t. There is compe on for adver sing revenue with subscrip on services and paywalls, all to aid in the survival of the fi est – with fi est now defined by how easy it is to mone se your content. And in amongst all of that, lies the fact that we’re not just talking about how we access informa on to inform debate, but whether you can call it informa on at all.

Reading—RT HON JACINDA ARDERN There are those far more learned than I who will argue where the source of the scourge of disinforma on lies. Within your own campus, you have those who will argue that the current problems of disinforma on are not the result of algorithms or trolls, but of “asymmetric media structures decades in the making.” I am not here to argue either way. Because at its heart, what we are in the middle of isn’t really new. Thomas Rid argues that the modern era of disinforma on began in the early 1920s “during the Great Depression, in an era of journalism transformed by radio, newly cut throat and fast paced” and that what has followed since has come in waves, including in mid-2010, “with disinforma on reborn and reshaped by new technologies and internet culture.” Others point to the accelera on of the informa on and disinforma on flow that comes with each new technology that enables mass duplica on and distribu on – from photocopiers to casse e tapes. The only thing that has changed perhaps, is speed. But as Rid concludes, either way, “the stakes are enormous – for disinforma on corrodes the founda on of liberal democracy, our ability to assess facts on their merits, and to self-correct accordingly.” I accept the picture I am pain ng may seem overwhelming and insurmountable. But I am an op mist at heart. And while we cannot change everything about the environment we are in – we can change ourselves. To build greater strength and resilience, in spite of the headwinds around us. And I see examples of that every day. Leah Bell and Waimarama Anderson were two young students from a public school in New Zealand called Otorohanga College. They couldn’t understand why every young New Zealander didn’t learn at school about New Zealand history including the New Zealand Wars, the conflict between Bri sh and colonial troops and Māori in the 19th century. These two students pushed for change, presen ng a pe on to parliament. And they succeeded. Next year, for the first me, our young people are universally learning about their past, their culture, and their history. But what is important here is not just what our young people learn, but how. In a disinforma on age, we need to learn to analyse and cri que informa on. That doesn’t mean teaching ‘mistrust’, but rather as my old history teacher, Mr Fountain extolled: “to understand the limita ons of a single piece of informa on, and that there is always a range of perspec ves on events and decisions.” Our history shows us the importance of this. But so too does our present. You are, and will always be surrounded by bias. You will con nue to be exposed to disinforma on. And over me, the ‘noise’ you are surrounded by will probably only get worse. And perhaps that is why, when your own cons tu on was adopted, Benjamin Franklin was asked what had been created and replied “A republic, if you can keep it.” If YOU can keep it. Yes, diversity of voice in mainstream media ma ers. The responsibility of social media ma ers. Teaching our kids to deal with disinforma on and the role we play as leaders all ma ers. But so do you. How you choose to engage with informa on, deal with conflict, or confront debate, how you choose to address being baited, or hated – it all ma ers. In the overwhelming challenges that lay in front of us, in our constant efforts to reach into the systems, the structures, the power, don’t overlook the impact of simple steps that are right in front of you. The impact that we each have as individuals. To make a choice to treat difference with empathy and kindness. Those values that exist in the space between difference and division. The very things we teach our children, but then view as weakness in our leaders. The issues we navigate as a society will only intensify. The disinforma on will only increase. The pull into the comfort of our tribes will be magnified. But we have it within us to ensure that this doesn’t mean we fracture. We are the richer for our difference, and poorer for our division. Through genuine debate and dialogue, through rebuilding trust in informa on and one another, through empathy – let us reclaim the space in between. A er all, there are some things in life that make the world feel small and connected, let kindness be one of them.

100 Years Ago: May 27th 2022 Messrs. E. de Mestre and G. E. Siddall no fy in this issue dissolu on of partnership in the business of Moruya Refrigera ng Works. PERSONS on the look-out for a comfortable home and an excep onally rich small farm, will have the opportunity of doing so on next Saturday week, when Mrs. J. Strahan’s property at Mynora will be submi ed to auc on at the “Examiner” Office by R. H. Harvison. The property includes the far-famed Mynora orchard. AN extraordinary accident befell Mr. Carter, manager of the Narooma Cheese Factory, on Monday. He was travelling to Bega per motor car when a few miles out of Cobargo a stone was thrown up by one of the wheels and struck him on the forehead, inflic ng a nasty wound. MESSRS. P. Connors and A. E. Graham were the successful tenderers for the contract of car ng 800 cubic yards of metal from the Shire stone crusher on to the Bodalla road near Ninderra. THE following resolu on was carried at the Shire Conference : “That the conference enter a strong protest against the unfair condi on a aching to the allotment of the main roads grant, namely, encumbering the acceptance of the grant with an obliga on on the Council to spend an unreasonably large amount of its own funds in addi on on the main roads.” During recess at 11 a.m. on Wednesday, Empire Day, the children at the local Public School saluted the flag, and addresses were delivered by Mr. R. L. Dawson, President of the Parent’s and Ci zens’ Associa on, Revs. G. A. Sanders and W. N. Whiteman, and patrio c songs rendered by the scholars. To their delight the youngsters were granted half a holiday. Personal and Otherwise. – Dr. Cutler and his bride have returned and taken up their residence in “Kildare House,” Queen Street. The banns of marriage of Miss Irene Lawler and Mr. Charles Cur s of Nerrigundah, were read in the Sacred Heart Church, Moruya on Sunday. Mrs. J. Bishop has leased her Glenduart property to her son, Mr. Greg Bishop, and has decided to reside in town, if a suitable co age is obtainable. Dr. M. Stormon, eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Stormon, jnr., of Eurobodalla, is home on a visit to his parents. Our clever young medico, who is prac cing at Rockdale, is, we understand, shortly to join the benedicts. Through a fall, Mr. “Ted” Donovan, son of Mrs. M. Donovan, of Gundary and who has been almost totally blind for a number of years, received a severe gash to his face and head. A few hours later serious symptoms manifested themselves and Dr. Quilter ordered the pa ent’s immediate removal to a Sydney hospital.