Friday, 23 November 2012

Living in "The Biggest Estate on Earth"


RELEASED quietly about a year ago is one of those rare Australian books – one that will change how you see your country.

“The Biggest Estate on Earth” by Bill Gammage describes how the lush, verdant and productive character of Australia in 1788 was no accident.  It looked this way because of the systematic and precise way it had been managed by Aboriginal people.

The title comes from the pens of the earliest white explorers.  Account after account described how they found the land undulating with alternate grassy meadows and forest patches, like an English gentleman’s country estate.

They were astonished to discover a land dominated by well-spaced large trees, with a lack of undergrowth and an abundance of long swishing grass.

The way Gammage compiles these colonial impressions, collated for us to read in one place for the first time, is a masterful display of the historian’s art.

He can genuinely alter how we view our land and our past, something that few historians can claim.

A farm without fences.

Gammage describes how this land was managed and moulded by pre-1788 people, how subtle dams were built, water channels cut, and how fire was used to replace plant communities.

Australia, he writes, was a farm without fences.  It challenges what we define as a farmer or a primary producer. 

Bill Gammage (Nat Library Australia, Louis Seselja)
If you replanted the top of every yam you used, so as to create hectares of yam fields, and continually weeded it, as happened on Cape York, I’d call that being a cultivator or a farmer.

If you built fish weirs and constructed wooded channels to guide water, as happened on the Darling River, you were engaging in aquaculture on a grand scale.  And the produce was harvested on a scale that ensured longevity in the food supply over differing seasons and many lifetimes.

“The Biggest Estate On Earth” changed how I see fire in the Australian landscape.  I once derided those with an urge to burn the land as red-eyed fire fanciers.  Gammage has demonstrated how it is an essential part of the landscape and many plant communities, a primary resource and a tool. 

But we tend to use it as a blunt club upon the land, using it in fiery ignorance, whereas it was once used as an instrument of supreme delicacy.

There were many different types of fire, and Gammage describes how just one valley had four different types of fire regimes.  There were “cool” fires, fires used for burns every two years, or every 50 years in a different place.

And they were never allowed by Aboriginal people to roar into the incinerating infernos we know today.

 

First Australians, Scientific Land Managers.

In our lifetimes, the First Australians have gone from being seen as indolent inhabitants of Terra Nullius to prudent and scientific caretakers and cultivators.  “The Biggest Estate On Earth” will significantly add to this evolving realisation.

And “scientific” is not a loose term.  Bill Stanner in 1969 wrote that Arnhem Landers used country classifications “as accurately as any ecologist”.

Gammage writes of one grass plain in a eucalypt forest in north east Victoria (page 72).  It is drained by a small creek, and slopes gently to the west where the creek drops away over a 5-metre cliff.

It is in fact a “brilliantly placed trap”, writes Gammage.  “Wallabies panicked on the plain would flee downslope and crash over the cliff, and the survivors would be ambushed in the narrow gully.”

It was a template repeated across Australia, created by fire and stone axes, and a masterful example of landscape design.

Whenever I take the time to stop and gaze over the landscape, I now try to image what it would have been like pre-1788.  If there are a lot of spindly trees on a north-facing slope, I think it was once a paddock, now being colonised by trees after the loss of the fire-burning regime.

Any large tree with a massive trunk may well have been there for over 200 years, and it is there for a reason.

Still, “The Biggest Estate on Earth” is not an easy book for everyone to read.  It is a catalogue of land practices, and has pile upon pile of detail and examples.  It can be a botanist’s bibliography of plant species and their ecosystems.

But it is a book whose importance and impact will grow and grow over the years.

Take time over Christmas to read it, slowly and with perseverance, and read it somewhere you can look over the Australian landscape.
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Friday, 16 November 2012

Small Winemakers, Big Taste


A FIELD of wine bottles stood before me.  Perched on a dozen trestle tables, they seemed alert and just calling out to be popped open.

And you don’t have to just look and drool and wish.  You can try any of them.

Look what we found:  a field of wine at the ASWS
The Australian Small Winemakers Show is held at Stanthorpe each October.

If you’re curious about what other wines are out there, the ones not confined within your local bottle shop, make a date to come and drool and sip. 

It is a wine show birthed from the Stanthorpe Show Society, and it has grown to be a festival-like event to show off the best from small Australian wineries.

Housed in one of the showground pavilions, it is a laidback and intimate wine show.  There is a non-pretentious feel, and is run by grinning and enthusiastic volunteers.

Best of Australian Boutique Wines

What will you have, asked Jim Armstrong, one of the volunteer wine stewards.

I dunno, what do you think?

The Champion White, he said promptly, and poured a taste of the Harewood Estate Wines Mount Barker Riesling 2012.

Jim is a local teacher and grape grower, and an unabashed advocate for Australian riesling.  

“Riesling has been out of favour for a while,” he said, and added with pride that Australian rieslings are “right up there with the very best”.

You’d hardly recognise a modern Australian riesling if you haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.  A taste of the Mount Barker will send your eyebrows up to your hairline in surprise.

The Harewood Estate Riesling is a young, medium-bodied wine with an orange peel and rosy bouquet, but it tasted and behaved in an extraordinary manner.  

Initially smooth over the tongue, it then leapt around the mouth.  And then it stayed and stayed as it slid down the back of the mouth.  More, please.

 Champion Chardonnay and Sparkling

Two other wines created a similar reaction.  The 2006 Chardonnay from Palmer Wines in Western Australia, the Most Successful Exhibitor Trophy winner, was also a keeper.  Who would think a six year old bottle of chardonnay would be as perky as a toddler on red cordial?

It had the body and hue of a semillion, and spread in a melted butter way through the mouth.  But it tasted like a classic Western Australian chardonnay, all lively honeydew, citris and cut grass.  Ooh, I thought, I hope they are still selling it.  More, please.

I still keep thinking about the Ghost Rock Catherine Sparkling Chardonnay and Pinot Noir.  The bouquet of this Tasmanian sparkling wine leapt out and bristled the nose hairs, as I was hit by the smells of molasses and crushed cane.

On the palate there was a sweet yeasty taste and a light fruity body.  It lingered on the tongue, with a warming and long taste in the mouth.  More please, and a ticket to Tassie, too.

I think the best wines evoke a memory, and take you back to a warm, cuddly place.  Palmers and Ghost Rock both did that.

You can’t possibly taste all the wines at the ASWA, though I did try for a while.  The best approach is to be selective.

Try one a variety, try medal winners, or simply try what the stewards recommend.  Don’t feel cheated if you can’t make your way through that field of bottles.

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Friday, 9 November 2012

Refugee Politics: With Heavy But Hardened Hearts


“I hate this issue.  It breaks my heart.  So complicated.”

So streamed this tweet, as a recent Q&A episode on ABC television again tackled the issue of refugee incarceration.

Within that simple tweet lies the intense but contradictory strands of a newly-emerging public response to the treatment of asylum seekers.

An image that calls up many responses - in each of us.  Courtesy SMH.
This new public response comes as the “here come the boats” issue is dragged into the political arena once again, as the government reopens the isolated Nauru detention centre.

Yet the response does not look like the freshly-minted righteous anger – for or against - we first witnessed.

Simply, many of us are now prepared to admit solutions like incarceration on Nauru are cruel.  And many of us are also prepared to let it go.  

It causes us genuine anguish to see these ordinary yet determined people placed in a proto-jail.  But our distress makes us want to look away, and hope the issue will die down or simply go away.

These are the threads I am sensing.

Firstly, many of us have built up empathy for refugees and asylum seekers.  Most Australians are now more likely to take a refugee into their home, or give them a chance at a job.

Secondly, our national response does embarrass a surprising amount of us.  “Fortress Australia,” sneered another Q&A tweet.  “The rest of the world is laughing at us.”  I know, we know.

Thirdly, we will not take to the streets to fight against incarceration.

Are we accepting this new development because it takes it off the front pages?  That bringing back the Pacific Solution actually deprives the strident and vituperative nationalists of an opportunity to air their xenophobic views?

And here’s a fourth strand.  The articulation that refugees who arrive by boat should get no advantage compared to those stuck in refugee camps elsewhere, is popular.

It calls to our sense of fair play, even though many of us logically know that it isn’t fair.  It isn’t a case of who was first, and who is pushing into the line.

There is a surging mass of millions of displaced people all over the world, and they cannot stand in an orderly line like they are waiting for service at a coffee shop.

A refugee camp - Australians understand the urge to flee.  www.elpais.cr
And the fact that there are millions of people who would risk so much for a new life in Australia touches a deep-held fear in our national psyche, a barely-glimpsed dread we have held for 200 years and may be reflected somewhere in each of us.

As the tweet said, it is heartbreaking and complicated.  As well as personally confronting.

We could say “the boat people” matter is a fault line that divides people in Australian politics, but too many of us see it is a personal fault line within us.

On Q&A Federal Minister Peter Garrett bravely said “no one takes comfort” in the Nauru solution.

A more profound defence than that is impossible.  He could only focus narrowly on the simple retort that the new solution stops lives from being put at risk, and punishes people smugglers.

Singer Billy Bragg said on Q&A that “a country must be judged on how the weak and dispossessed are treated”.  We know we cannot meet this test.

That is another burden to put on our heavy hearts, but it won’t be enough to break their new hardening.
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Friday, 26 October 2012

Meet Campbell Newman's Political Ancestor


QUEENSLAND politics has flipped around in a polar reversal this year, and we’re still trying to get a grip on the churning state of the Newman State.

To explain it all to the Gen X and Gen Y kiddies, some of Queensland’s Baby Boomers are sagely pointing to Bjelke-Petersen as a political ancestor to the Premier.  

But history provides a much more vivid political doppelganger for Campbell Newman.

Perhaps the Premier Newman most resembles is Thomas McIlwraith, a mercurial Scotsman who was in charge from 1879 to 1883.

Both are engineers, both burn to deliver big engineering projects as political leaders, and their corporate-style political outlooks are surprisingly similar.

The question is: will Newman’s path go the same way as that of McIlwraith?

Let’s look at the similarities of the two men.

Early Life As Engineers.
Thomas McIlwraith. Courtesy Wikipedia
In Queensland, they started as outsiders – but of place, not class.  McIlwraith was born in Ayr in Scotland, and moved to Queensland at the age of forty.  Newman was raised in Canberra and Tasmania, and moved to Queensland in his thirties.

Their prosperous and privileged backgrounds ensured they slotted into Queensland’s upper classes when they arrived.  McIlwraith was the son of a shipowner, Newman is the son of two Liberal Federal ministers.

Both became king of the jungle after starting as engineer –businessmen, a breed not often seen on the political savannah.

McIlwraith was more the entrepreneur who formed pastoral and land development companies, and speculated in copper mining, brewing and sugar.  Newman is more the manager, once managing operations at the agribusiness Grainco, and was a consultant in “bulk commodity logistics.”

Both commenced working life as civil engineers.  McIlwraith studied civil engineering at Glasgow University, and Newman got his degree in civil engineering from Royal Military College Duntroon.  

And both carried their engineering enthusiasms into office.  McIlwraith’s great obsession was railways.  He started as a railway engineer, and reached his political Stalingrad when he tried to create a transcontinental railway through the Queensland outback.

For Campbell Newman, it is tunnels and bridges.

Engineering As Political Character: The Burn to Build
Here we delve into the “political character” realm.  Neither Newman nor McIlwraith are timid, and both display a streak of audacity.

Campbell Newman, copyright Brian Cassey
Both are firmly fixated on grandiose engineering schemes to deliver a political outcome, and both stick to these ideas in a strong, jarring manner.

And whilst both are advocates of private enterprise, they rely on the public purse to fund these projects. 

Raymond Evans writes that public debt hit 50 million pounds under McIlwraith.  This debt figure vastly outweighed the total productive value of the colony, and was the highest per capita debt in the British Empire. 

More than half of the borrowings were expended on railways.

At Brisbane City Council under Campbell Newman, debt has reached $2.1 billion whilst revenue sits at $2 billion, leaving Council with a debt / revenue ratio of over 100%.

Political Outlook and Philosophy
Besides their drive to deliver expensive civil engineering projects as political panaceas, there are many striking similarities is in their political philosophies.

One.  Both see the business of government as helping business.  Raymond Evans describes how McIlwraith “facilitated the entry of corporate capitalism into the colony with his expansive laissez faire approach”.

Like his antecedent, Newman certainly wants to rein in government so as to unleash business activity.  He favours removing strictures from the EPA and other government agencies on land development.

Two.  There is a strange lack of empathy for Struggle Street.  It was written that McIlwraith “lacked that burning sense of humanity and passion against injustice”, and instead was committed to a narrowly conceived notion of success built on business enterprise.

It was Housing Minister Flegg, not Newman, who sent out brusque and ill-judged letters to public housing tenants stating they may have to share or look at moving.

But the fact that Newman made no empathetic response to the subsequent furore (did he think it was a good idea or did he even care?) convinced many public housing tenants that they simply did not register on Newman’s political radar.

Both Premiers are judged not for actual statements they made, but the lack of them.

Those For and Those Opposed
Three.  For both men, the political world is divided into people for them, and against them.  Those against them earn their continual enmity.

Read the article in The Monthly by Nick Bryant on how Newman needlessly bristled when confronted by Greens in street campaigning in Ashgrove.  Byrant reveals Newman’s deep seated enmity towards Bligh, but strangely, not towards Beattie.

McIlwraith’s ministers were desperate not to fall on the side of “the outsiders”.  According to the Queensland Worker newspaper, his ministers would “count his approbation for anything they do.  They yearn for his smile … and his nod of approval fills and thrills them with the most exquisite delight”.

Sound familiar?

Four.  There is forcefulness in their political character, almost to the point of recklessness.  The Australian Dictionary of Biography wrote that McIlwraith had a “habit of getting his own way through sheer force of character.”

That could apply to Newman, who doggedly implemented and stuck with his yellow bike scheme, even though it will cost at least four times the $2.2 million over four years originally budgeted for it.

McIlwraith’s Fate, Newman’s Lesson
How it all ended for McIlwraith may be the true lesson that everyone is looking for here. 

He was first Premier from 1879 to 1883, and lost the election to rival Samuel Griffith.  Why?  McIlwraith struck political rocks as he desperately searched for innovative ways to fund his infrastructure and colonial development program.

He wanted to bring in “coolie labourers” and fund his transcontinental railway through excessively generous land grants to private railway companies.

McIlwraith was only defeated because of a split in conservative ruling class ranks.  Traditional pastoralists were horrified by his planned creation of powerful landed railway companies in their own fiefdom.

But he was also opposed by a working class horrified at waves of coloured workers competing for their jobs.

These were big, unusual projects.  McIlwraith was convinced of his own vision, was uncompromising, and was brittle when faced with criticism.

The criticism probably made him an even more entrenched proponent of his project, even when its flaws and economic failings become more obvious.

Strangely, McIlwraith can be characterised as having a crash or crash through approach, like Whitlam.

It is far too early to say if Newman has the same characteristic, or will suffer the same fate as these two predecessors.  But there are interesting similarities between them all.

If in future years we are looking at where it all went wrong for Newman, we may wonder why we did not pay closer attention to the career arc of McIlwraith.

Sources. 
A History of Queensland, Raymond Evans, Cambridge University Press, Melbourne 2007.
“Thomas McIlwraith: A Colonial Entrepreneur”, DB Waterson, in Queensland Political Portraits 1859-1952, edited DJ Murphy and RB Joyce, University of Queensland Press, St Lucia 1978.


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