A bit of a Borat in the bedroom

Isla Fisher is a saint. That's all I can conclude from the story today about Sasha Baron Cohen's method acting proclivities during the making of Borat. The "cultural learnings" may have "make benefit glorious nation of Kazakhstan", but Baron Cohen's apparent insistence on remaining in character for every waking minute must have gotten absolutely infuriating. We all learned during the film's popularity just how annoying prolonged Borat impressions could be. Even the original must have gotten absolutely excruciating for months at a time.

Fisher was quoted as saying she was willing to endure Borat in the bedroom. Just stop for a moment to envisage what a shocking scenario that must be. Apparently he never washes his suit, so you can only imagine the stench. Then, there's the requirement to engage in acts of intimacy with someone sporting that moustache. But most painful of all, without doubt, would be the language. We all know how Borat invites someone to become intimate with him. So that must mean that Fisher, incredibly, responded to his garbled requests to make romance inside of her with a "yes". Which, surely, goes far beyond the call of duty for even the most devoted of girlfriends.

And really, as brilliant a character actor as Baron Cohen undoubtedly is, surely it isn't absolutely necessary to remain in character 100% of the time? I mean, we've all read that he refuses to improvise in press conferences, forcing journalists to stick to a specific list of situations for which he's pre-written funny answers. It's not exactly hallmark of an obsessive method actor, who tries to inhabit the character completely. Perhaps he has a pre-scripted bedroom routine, from which Isla isn't allowed to deviate?

She's apparently drawn the line at Bruno, the gay Austrian fashion reporter who'll doubtlessly be accused of promoting homophobia when his next movie comes out. But surely if Baron Cohen's that devoted to method, he won't be spending the night with women anyway.

This story made me wonder whether it's common for actors to insist on remaining in character in the bedroom. Did De Niro force all of his partners to bunk down with the Taxi Driver during the making of that film? Did Andy Serkis insist on retaining Gollum's voice while he got it on with his "precioussss"? And I don't even want to think about whether Paul Reubens remained in his Pee-Wee Herman character when he disgraced himself in that theatre.

Sure, I can see how this might be an advantage sometimes. Hugh Jackman remaining in the role of the Wolverine might be a bit of fun for Deborah-Lee Furness of an evening, his Peter Allen role less so. And, while we're on X-Men, who would turn down the chance to get it on with Mystique, even though you'd ended up daubed in blue body paint?

But for the most part, this staying-in-character stuff seems terribly pretentious. If our nation's – probably the world's – finest character actor, the man of a thousand hilarious cricket voices, the Twelfth Man, doesn't feel the need to commentate his bedroom action in a mixture of Bill Lawry and Richie Benaud (and, dear God, I hope for his partner's sake he doesn't), then Sasha Baron Cohen has no excuse. Give our Isla a break, Sasha. Leave Borat where he ought to be – a long way from the bedroom.



Dominic Knight

The songstress Senator

I'm sure Amanda Vanstone will make a fantastic ambassador to Italy, if that rumoured deal comes off. Well, certainly a better ambassador than she was immigration minister. But she will be missed, because Senator Vanstone has long been the most likeable of Howard's ministerial team. Sure, it may not be so hard to come over as nicer than Tony Abbott or Philip Ruddock, she has always had a wonderful sense of humour. And she'll need it, given the amused reaction to the new patriotic song she's written for Australia, Under Southern Stars.

I've seen this mentioned elsewhere today, but I think that when a former Minister of the Crown puts pen to paper, their efforts deserve close scrunity. I sincerely hope that future generations study this effort in their English classes, because it is a truly special piece of poetry. Forget your Banjo Patterson, forget your Les Murray, for it is Amanda Vanstone will go down as our finest bard.

The full lyrics in all their patriotic glory are here, but let me highlight some of my favourite bits.

Home to first Australians,

Joined from near and far,

She starts by recognising indigenous Australians? I know she's a relatively wet Lib, but come on. That's positively Greens-esque No wonder John Howard doesn't feel she's got a future in the party. But if she really wants to recognise the Aboriginal experience, "Joined from near and far" isn't gonna cut it. "Exterminated from near and far" is far more accurate.

Then there's "Shining light for freedom". An odd lyric to be written by someone who's best known for locking people up. But let's take it on its merits. This reads as an uncomfortable hybrid of Chifley's "light on the hill" – yes, that's right, another Leftist notion – and George Bush's idea that a democratic Iraq would serve as a "beacon" in the Middle East. I'd steer well clear of the idea that our freedom shines a light elsewhere, if I were her. And certainly not repeat it at the end of the song, leading everyone to suspect I'd run out of lyrics.

Nation made of many,

Bound in hope as one,

This is a bit more Howardian. Everyone has to come together and assimilate nicely together, so we can start "building for the future" – presumably Meriton apartments.

Then she starts getting a bit mixed up on us, a little like one of her famous multicoloured dresses :

Free and Friendly Nation,

Born of our own hand,

Peace our greatest virtue,

Mighty Southern Land.

Valiant into Battle,

Courage to the end,

Standing firm for freedom,

Loyal southern friend.



So we're free and friendly, but in case any terrorists reading are emboldened by "peace being our greatest virtue", she immediately reminds them that we're awesome at going to war. And look, I know Australia's armed forces are quite good given our tiny size, but would you really call us "mighty"? Worst of all, though, is "loyal southern friend" sounds awfully like that cringeworthy John Howard deputy sheriff stuff.

What's more – geez, does she have to mention that we're "southern" the whole time? It sounds like a synonym for "a bit crapper, but still not that bad." She uses the adjective six times.

Having made a hash of the whole peace/war thing, she then waxes poetic about our natural environment:

Nature's earthly heaven,

Glory for our eyes,

Ours alone those treasures,

Under Southern Skies.



Australia is heaven on earth? Overstating things a bit, surely. Yeah, it's nice, but personally I'll take a Thai island resort any day. Anyhow, she finishes by emphasises that we're not sharing our treasures with anyone from overseas because they're "ours alone". No wonder John Howard has said he likes the song.

My favourite aspect of her work, though, does not relate to her lyrics. What I like is her choice of music. This song is supposed to be a patriotic song to sing on Australia Day and other dinky-di occasions, to play alongside Hey True Blue and Waltzing Matilda. And so she sets it to Sir Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No 1, for which the best-known lyrics are "Land of Hope and Glory". That is, the patriotic anthem of England – and unofficial theme song of the Conservative Party.

So, in an attempt to invest occasions with "gravitas", as she terms it, she has stolen a song from England, and whacked in some shonky quasi-American lyrics about freedom. That seems a fairly accurate summary of contemporary Australia, and as such I heartily recommend the song be played on all formal occasions.

To pay her some credit, though, her lyrics are considerably better than most Aussie hip-hop. It seems a shame she apparently won't be "under Southern skies" for much longer, because I'd certainly rather listen to Amanda rock the mic than most of the local rappers they play on Triple J.

Above all, though, I commend the Senator for doing something to enhance Aussie patriotism that I thought would never be possible – making Advance Australia Fair seem like a good national anthem.

I only have one major concern. Did this song, with its hackneyed imagery and substantial repetition, really take her six years? By this rate, she won't be releasing her whole album until 2079.

Dominic Knight



Photo of Amanda Vanstone rocking the mics: David Mariuz

No more Playboys at the Mansion?

So, Hugh Hefner's settling down? He's downsizing from three bimbos playmates to just one? Hef, baby, say it ain't so! If the most objectionably hedonistic man on the planet (with the possible exception of Kim Jong Il) is settling down with just a single pneumatic blonde who's far too young for him, what is there for the rest of us men to aspire to? What man wants to turn 80 and have to downsize the number of partners we're incapable of satisfying with our shrivelled bodies? Sure, he still gets around in that ridiculous silk robe, but I'm beginning to suspect that the much-vaunted swingin' Hef lifestyle is – gasp – a lie.

If even Hugh Hefner can't get old truly disgracefully, aided and abetted by the world's premiere lifestyle drug, Viagra, then I am starting to worry. I'm only a week into my thirties, as it happens, and already I'm beginning to suspect that my chances of serious Mansion-style debauchery are slipping away from me. Unless I somehow manage to become a late Roman emperor over the next decade or so, I'm going to have to concede that my most pathetic male fantasies are just that – fantasies. That no-one actually lives like Hugh Hefner pretended to. And that, terrifyingly enough, I may as well give into what the Hefster seems to have belatedly realised – that a stable, monogamous relationship might actually be the best way to live.

I mean, I'm lounging around silk pajamas even as we speak*, and not only is no-one filming a reality show set in my home, there aren't even any surgically enhanced blondes dressed in demeaning fetish gear around. Is Hef, who defined so much of what it meant to be a man in the 1960s (and refused to ever move beyond that), now redefining what it is to be a male in 2007?

Sure, the person he's thinking about settling down with is a 27-year-old bikini model and former Hooters Girl called Holly Madison. An option not open to most eightysomethings. But it's the principle of the thing. I'm even more shocked by the idea that Hef might choose to be with one girl than I am at the news that Warney might.

In many respects, the primary beneficiaries of the sexual revolution have been women, of course. But Hugh Hefner did his bit to make sure that men got some upside as well. As it became okay for women to have sex outside marriage, Hef tried to up the ante by making it okay for men to have sex with multiple partners outside marriage. (Not women, of course. Men have ensured that's still perceived as slutty.) Yes, he was an innovator.

But today's news drives the final nail, to use a metaphor worthy of the magazine itself, into the Playboy coffin. Hefner's great success was not that he was promiscuous – powerful men have always been that. It's that he successfully managed to portray some fairly unsophisticated male fantasies as somehow classy or desirable.

When Hugh Hefner recedes further into history, society is smart enough not to throw the baby out with the bathwater. He was a genuine warrior for sexual liberation, even if he turned the women he was liberating into sex objects. But the idea that behaving like him is somehow cool or desirable has long since receded, with his lifestyle now the grist for the humiliating mill of reality TV.

So it's time to finally bang shut the doors on the Playboy mansion, and leave Hugh and his measly one woman in peace. Let's face it, the whole Playboy thing was always embarrassing. Most men grow out of it at around 16. But still, 64 years too late is still better than never. So welcome to adulthood, Hugh Hefner.



Dominic Knight

* OK, I'm not. I don't even own them. But Hef's life clearly doesn't live up to the hype, so why should mine?

And now for something completely ditzy...

With so many comments to yesterday's flag post, some of which required serious filtration, I've been preoccupied by thinking about these complex issues again today. So for today's instalment, let's change gears completely. To the lightest, fluffiest topic of all – Paris Hilton. Let me applaud whoever came up with the headline on the SMH homepage about Paris trying to shut down a website full of nude photos of her – "Paris seeks redress". Surely, people, racist rednecks and arrogant inner-city latte sippers alike can come together for that one universal goal – to laugh at Paris Hilton?

Apparently Paris was "shocked and surprised" that naked photos of her that were supposed to be in a storage locker were posted on the internet. Really? After people even hacked into her cellphone and put her nudie pics on the internet?

Okay, so you and I may have naively assumed that every extant image of Paris naked or having sex was already in the public domain. But Paris, surely, knew she had another cache of home-made porn out there. And for some reason, didn't destroy it. So really, what were the odds of it not getting an airing online? Paris, if you're reading, I'd henceforth work on the assumption that every image of you ever taken is going to wind up on the internet. So, like, um, maybe you might want to rethink your hobby of posing nude for the cameras? There are plenty of other, slightly less humiliating ways of embarrassing yourself – releasing another single, perchance?

So Paris, as always, is the big loser. But how about the folk who bought her stuff for $2775 and on-sold it for $10 million? Despite its ubiquity, Paris' lack of dignity certainly has a huge price. She really should just swallow what little presumably remains of her pride and become an adult star. I mean, by choice. At least she'd be the one making the money.

I am particularly amazed that the domain "parisexposed.com" was still available for the purchasers to set up the photos taken from Paris' storage locker. Surely, given her boundless penchant for scandal, all possible Paris domain names have now been taken by cybersquatters? I did a little test just now, and much to my surprise ParisIsTheAntichrist.com is still available – and surely a valuable investment given her career to date – but I bet that's it's just about the only Paris-related domain name still available.

Sadly for those folks who might have wanted to pay $39.97 to see what surely everyone with an internet connection is already sick to death of, the site's now been shut down. And you can guess its owners are in a bit of legal trouble. Presumably the copyright holder didn't consent to their publication (which, I believe, a separate legal issue to buying the items themselves.)

Now, here's where I tenuously, and ultimately unsuccessfully, link this issue to something more serious in an attempt to add gravitas to a frivolous post. Let us reflect. We treat refugees escaping from brutal regimes as if they're criminals, locking them up for months at a time, and yet we let Paris freely enter Australia whenever she feels like it. There's something seriously wrong with this country.

There's something seriously wrong with Paris as well, of course. Perhaps it's all the Tampax she's been smoking?

Stay tuned for Episode #257,385 in the long-running drama series that is Paris Hilton's frequently naked, invariably photographed life next week.



Dominic Knight

Flagging enthusiasm for our national symbol

I give up. Victory is yours, bogans draped in Australian flags. I watched you pissedly staggering all over the city on Australia Day like so many wobby Pauline Hansons, wearing the flag like a redneck superhero's cape. You love the flag so much, you can keep it. The rest of us, who don't particularly give a stuff about it and find patriotism faintly embarrassing, will move onto something else when we need a national symbol. You can make the current design your Aussie Confederate Flag, and proudly wave it as you shout "We grew here, and we flew here" at harmless migrants, ignoring the obvious point that your parents almost certainly migrated here a short while ago as well. After all, It's a colonial flag, so what better match for colonial-era attitudes?

I shouldn't conflate the two issues, though. I really dislike the current flag's design, but far more than that, I dislike excessive patriotism, especially in the shape of flag-draping. In particular, we don't need incidents like the one in Adelaide on Australia Day. And while John Howard says it isn't the flag's fault, because it doesn't have arms, let's just say it's implicated.

The Big Day Out issue was ridiculous both in the initial action and the frenzied reaction, and let's hope the organisers have learnt a thing or two about reverse psychology. But in case anyone's organising a major music festival and wants to stop assorted bogans and rednecks draping themselves in the Australian flag at it, here's a helpful tip. Under no circumstances ban – or even "discourage" – people from bringing it. It's like a red rag to a bull. Like Fred Nile salivating over the prospect of interrupting Mardi Gras, it provides perfect fodder for those people who love to get upset about "political correctness gone mad" and suchlike. Worse still, it gives shrill Tele headline writers and State politicians the perfect grist for their populism.

I do see their point, though. They didn't want another Cronulla – or another Big Day Out 2006. And who can blame them? They were so concerned that they even moved the day. As our primary teachers used to say, it only takes a few to spoil it for everyone.

There is one place where flags don't seem a potential exhibition of bigotry, though, and that's at international sporting matches. I went to the World Cup match where the Socceroos took on Croatia, and every single Croatian supporter was absolutely draped in red-and-white chequerboard gear. We needed to match them, and in that context, the guys with gold jerseys who were wearing flags as capes didn't seem particularly obnoxious. After the match, the two teams' supporters mixed in the main street of Stuttgart, shaking hands and congratulating one another in the most sporting of spirits. I was genuinely surprised how friendly the atmosphere was, even though both the riot police and large quantities of delicious wheat beer were a constant presence. There's no distasteful ambiguity if you're just supporting your national team.

But even in sport, flags can be problematic. The English football team I support, Arsenal, has banned all national flags from home games because of tensions over Turkish Cypriot flags, and also because away fans have been holding up English flags as a means of critiquing Arsenal's multinational composition, and the club finds that highly offensive. Their view, which I agree with, is that national flags should only be used in association with national teams, and that otherwise the symbolism can upset other spectators and cause problems.

What's more, neither of our traditional sporting colours is found on our flag, because red, white and blue have too many other meanings – so the use of the national flag in sport shouldn't strictly be necessary. The boxing kangaroo's probably a better option. And it's always struck me as odd to compete against England in, say, the Ashes by waving a piece of cloth that has the Union Jack in a dominant position.

Let me be clear – I don't advocate bans except when you have genuinely threatening potential flashpoints. Rather, I'd suggest that those of us who wish to harmlessly express our patriotism choose not use the flag to do it, because it now has too many unfortunate associations. Every nationalist hate group in the world venerates their national flag, and frankly, that's spoiled it for the rest of us. The danger is that it becomes a different kind of competition – of Australianness, of asserting that the bearers are "real Aussies" and others aren't.

If we want to promote the better kind of Australian values, of relaxed tolerance and inclusion, then we should leave our flag to the redneck elements who are evidently so keen to claim it. And when we absolutely need a flag, let's find a new one that's free of emotive British (in other words, white) symbols.



Dominic Knight

Kev's transformation is a Ruddy miracle

Kevin Rudd is, if nothing else, a man of substance. A policy wonk, even, to use the American phrase. He’s a former diplomat and writes lengthy, ponderous articles for The Monthly at the drop of a hat. When buttonholed by Julian Morrow for The Chaser’s Pursuit Trivia segment, he was the only contestant who not only got the question right, but provided a positively embarrassing amount of extraneous detail. So it’s a bit strange seeing him trying to remake himself as an ordinary man of the land in his latest advertisement.

It’s actually scarily reminiscent of Will Ferell’s excellent parody of George Bush’s folksy style – right down to the candidate standing with an arm on a country fence! Still, many Australians still don’t know who he is, and it’s probably better to rebuild his image from scratch than continue his previous persona of that smug bloke with the daggy haircut.
Rudd’s ad even packs in the hyper colour-saturated images of Australia’s beaches and bush that we saw in the “Where The Bloody Hell Are You?” ads. Though thankfully he omitted Lara Bingle. Given the media fixation on Julia Gillard’s physical attractiveness, though, we probably shouldn’t be surprised if she crops up grinning in a bikini in future instalments.
This is a move to American style campaigning – the inspiring biography, the bold, sweeping vision that touches emotive themes without going into any specifics, underpinned by a subtle but not overtly negative critique of the status quo. In fact, it’s rather like the recent video put out by US Presidential hopeful Barack Obama. Rudd is evidently aiming to emulate this easy style and populist appeal, and doing surprisingly well at it.
Then again, anything seems folksy and down-home over a fingerpicked acoustic guitar backing track. Which is why, ironically enough, the WorkChoices ads in 2005, which featured all those “ordinary workers” used a very similar backing track. (I tried to find a link to illustrate this eerie parallel, but the government ads seems to have vanished without a trace.) Accordingly, Rudd’s mildly irritating persona has been smoothed out by some excellent packaging.
Truth be told, he probably learned how to do this on Sunrise. That show has a remarkable effect of making virtually anyone look like an ordinary, decent bloke – and there’s no better illustration of this than its host. David Koch, now blokily known as Kochie, used to be a finance reporter, and he even still looks like one – but pulls off the Average Joe act brilliantly.
Both Rudd and Joe Hockey have done well out of their regular appearances – Hockey receiving a promotion this week. Kochie and Mel’s magic wand has worked wonders on two of the politicians whose manners I personally found most irritating. I’ve disliked Hockey ever since he gave an incredibly arrogant speech at an Orientation Week, but he’s learned to tone it down and channel his natural affability into a kind of bearish charm. Perhaps even Kim Beazley might have learned how to appeal to middle Australia if he’d appeared regularly on Sunrise?
I generally detest political ads for their hamfisted manipulativeness, but even I have to concede that Rudd’s effort is classy. It’ll need more than a swelling soundtrack to convince me that Rudd is actually likeable, but as ever, he radiates competence and integrity, with the arrogance nowhere to be seen. If I was John Howard, I’d be worried. If they can recast Rudd as a likeable bloke, it could well be that finally, after a decade, Labor’s campaign team actually knows what it’s doing.
Dominic Knight

The Young Libs are smokin'

Every year, there are news stories about wacky proposals put forward by the junior wings of our political parties, as they try to impress their seniors with their creative thinking and fall hilariously short. Last year, those funsters at Young Labor proposed bringing back national service but, as has happened so often in the Federal arena in recent years, the Libs have utterly outclassed them with their latest proposal. Yes, the finest young minds on the political right have gathered together in Melbourne to run the slide-rule across Australia, and they’ve come up with a policy to address the biggest problem in Australia today – the alarming rate at which people are giving up smoking.

To address the outrage that is people being actively encouraged to live longer, the Victorian branch of the Young Liberals has advocated bringing back tobacco advertising. Forget promotions for the likes of Malcolm Turnbull – these are the people John Howard needs on his frontbench.
Really, their logic is infallible. Like the good little ideologues that they are, they know that individual free will should reign supreme. "Prohibitions on tobacco advertising are an insult to the intelligence of the ordinary Australian," the branch says. "These bans assume that individuals are not fit to make up their own minds on the benefits or otherwise of smoking and need the Government to make the decision for them."
Forget the research that shows banning cigarette advertising reduces youth smoking - there's a principle at stake here. And while we’re at it, why not leave more things up to the wisdom of ordinary Australians, like whether to take drugs? We should be able to determine the “benefits or otherwise” for ourselves, surely? I’m sick of the nanny state interfering with my choices about whether to inject heroin, and it’s time I was given the liberty.
In fact, this argument applies to the whole of organised society. How dare society interfere with my individual choices about whether to vote, wear clothes, pay taxes, or unleash a hail of bullets into a Young Liberals convention!
There must be some limits to this bountiful individual freedom, of course. The same people that passionately advocate liberty for all generally draw the line at allowing women to “make up their own minds on the benefits or otherwise” of proceeding with their pregnancies.
But it’s not just the precious principle of personal liberty that’s at stake here. There’s an even more cherished value at play – the supremacy of free market. The Young Libs believe that the tobacco companies should have the right to compete with anti-tobacco advertising.
It's not just the tobacco ads. Where are the ads for drug dealers? Without publicity material on who markets a superior variety of ecstacy, those exercising their free choice to get high are left to flail around in ignorance, and are ultimately forced to randomly approach dodgy-looking guys in nightclubs. Call that a free market?
Think also of the benefits of unrestricted competition in the human body. Since the ban on advertising, and a massive, bipartisan effort to reduce cigarette consumption that has worked spectacularly well, lung cancer has been prevented from competing fairly with heart disease and other forms of cancer in the killing market. It's an outrage, and in fact, I’m surprised the ACCC hasn’t gotten involved.
The whole of medicine, in fact, is guilty of this sort of improper interference, equally poorly justified on the grounds of "public health". I don't need experts to tell me whether I'm sick, and how to treat it. As a sovereign individual, I can make these sorts of decisions for myself.
Similarly, the Man’s ridiculous gun controls have restricted shooting from taking its place among the leading causes of death in Australia as well – a mistake that the more free market-oriented Americans have not made.
The Young Libs have lots of other great policy ideas as well, like the flat tax. Although that was Pauline Hanson's idea first. Still, that never stopped John Howard.
Most politicians quickly learn that it’s disastrous to blindly apply ideology without any regard to the complexities of the real world. Those that don’t learn that governing is harder than simplistically applying dogma do things like invading Iraq – where, I see, another 88 people were killed today because the neoconservatives didn’t bother to figure out whether their ‘liberation’ would be welcomed. Let’s hope this current, naïve crop of Young Liberals learn the lesson well in advance of their preselections. Then again, if they indulge their inalienable individual right to play in oncoming traffic, free from the patronising intervention of the road rules, maybe they won’t have to.
Dominic Knight

A column about my 30th birthday

In his movie Born On The Fourth Of July, Tom Cruise plays Ron Kovic, a disabled Vietnam vet who campaigns against the war. But, folks, his patriotism is not to be doubted, because – with that trademark subtlety for which the American cinema is justly renowned – he was born on Independence Day. If he were Born On The Fourteenth of July, Bastille Day, by contrast, he’d be one of those cheese-eating surrender monkey fellows we hear about, and not to be trusted.

I mention this to show that birthdays are important as an indicator of national fidelity. I mention that because I myself was born on Australia Day. And sure, Born On The Twenty-Sixth Of January doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, but it doesn’t matter – the important thing is that this fact makes me indisputably an Aussie Legend. You’ll hear about it when I run for Prime Minister.

Heroes like myself often face sceptics – it was the same for Kovic. Well, I’m not the only person who thinks I’m special because of my birthday. There’s even a special club for people like me called the 26ers club. And you can’t join unless you’re one of the lucky one in 365 of us who share an Invasion Day nativity, so there.

Unfortunately, the club is run by the Victorian Australia Day Council, so I’ve never actually attended one of its events. But according to its website, “Members receive a card and badge annually, and are invited to participate in the Melbourne events, including a birthday cake cutting ceremony.” That’s right, we’re talking about publicly funded birthday cake. Told you it was special.

The 26ers desperately needs a Sydney chapter, but unfortunately I don’t know anyone else privileged enough to share my birthday. Let me know if you do, and we can organise an annual get-together to lord it over everyone else at the taxpayers’ expense. You may even be given the chance to campaign for me.

This was a particularly poignant birthday for me, not just because it was the first one I celebrated as the member of an exclusive club, but because it was my thirtieth. I felt some trepidation about the end of my twenties, but so many people told me that “30 is the new 20” that by the time the day came around, I no longer cared. It worked so well, in fact, I am now trying to deal with another of my irritating signs of aging by promoting the idea that “thinning hair is the new thick”. You heard it here first.

Besides, I figure you’re only as mature as you act, so I’m safe for a good while yet. My only real concern is that there’s any truth in the somewhat desperate-sounding cliché that “life begins at 40”. If that’s true, I’m in for one heck of a dull decade.

But one’s thirtieth birthday is a major landmark, a time to reflect on where you’re at with your life, and where you’d like to be in another decade. So here goes. Life to date? Awesome. Potential areas of improvement? Nil. Mmm, that was rewarding.

So, where will I be by the time I’m 40? Well, as it happens I’ve already worked that out. By 2017, The Glebe will be the bestselling national daily newspaper in Australia, driven to the top position by this column, which will appear exclusively on its cover every day. Pages 2-9 will contain a selection of greatest hits from my earlier column-writing career, which will also break Harry Potter 15’s holo-book sale. Pages 10-13 will contain news about me and my wife, Lara Bingle (after all, she likes the stars), also doubling as the social pages. The rest of the newspaper will follow.

Newspapers are a one-way medium, of course. That’s why I like them. So rather than waiting for you to wish me a happy birthday, I will take the liberty of wishing myself one on your behalf. Thanks, that’s very kind of you.

Dominic would like to advise readers that gifts will be gratefully received care of The Glebe office. Please ask those delivering large objects (cars, etc) to ring in advance – our storeroom may already be full of birthday presents. Please include a return address so he can send a personalised thankyou note, or in case your gift isn’t good enough.

Oh say can you hearsay...

The majority of Australians are outraged by the treatment of David Hicks – so much so, in fact, that even John Howard and Philip Ruddock, of all people, recently aired concerns about the process. So what do the Americans do? Create a tribunal that allows dodgy evidence obtained through coercion or hearsay. In other words, they’d admit evidence where a Guantanamo inmate was deprived of sleep until he said “My friend told me that David Hicks said Osama bin Laden was awesome.” And not only would they accept it – it’d probably be enough to get Hicks executed.

Really, it’s a return to The Crucible-style witchhunt justice. And in case the military commission needs even more conclusive evidence of his perfidy, I have a friend who swears she saw Goody Hicks dancing with the devil.
Are these rules about a fair trial really all that important? Well, don’t take my word for it, as respected as it may be in the circles of power. These rights are considered so fundamental and universal in America that they’re enshrined in the Sixth Amendment of the Constitution, as part of America’s Bill of Rights. Which reads as follows:
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense.
They'll say it's not a "criminal" prosecution, he's an "enemy combatant". We can safely disregard this fictitious distinction, created only to get around centuries of legal tradition.
Obviously the hearsay right – “to be confronted with the witnesses against him” – isn’t happening, so how does this process score in terms of the other criteria? I’m not able to read the minds of the framers of the Constitution (unlike many on the US Supreme Court), but I’m not sure the Founding Fathers had five year delays in mind when they specified that trials were to be “speedy”. And military tribunals aren’t exactly “public”, are they?
They can’t try him in the district where the crime was committed, because it was Afghanistan, which, let's not forget, isn't subject to US law - and arguing that international law applies is a bit sketchy when they aren't applying the international conventions about the treatment of prisoners-of-war.
As for the jury of the peers - Hicks' jury, as numerous critics have pointed out, will be made up of military personnel, who work for the US Government and presumably have a vested career interest in doing its bidding.
Virtually every right specified here, in fact, has been taken away – I don’t know that anyone’s even been informed of what the accusation is. You’d think five years would be enough time to trump up a few charges.
The one right they have given him is an attorney – although only a military one. He got lucky, though, and the long-suffering Major Mori says in today’s article that Hicks has no chance of a fair trial. And in an update, in fact, he has said his chances are “worse under the new system”. Not exactly encouraging. And even less encouraging is the Pentagon’s reassurance that the trial will start “soon”.
If Hicks was a US citizen, this process surely could not stand. And in all the deluge of excuses as faint condemnations by Australian leaders, the one point that has not been explained is why, exactly, an Australian citizen – or, in fact, anyone – should be afforded fewer rights than those provided by the US Constitution, which is supposed to serve as a beacon of democracy the world over, holds should be extended to all?
I know I’ve written a lot about Hicks recently. But this situation just gets more absurd with every report I read. And to my mind, the most important point remains unanswered. It's the one that's been asked by many, including the ALP in recent times. If Hicks is guilty of a crime, as he may well be, why can't it be proved in a proper court in Australia or the US?
Really, they may as well execute him and be done with it. It’d be more humane than the current proposal.
But perhaps we shouldn’t worry. Because Alexander Downer reckons he’s not crazy. Phew. Although he won’t say how he knows this, or who examined him. Well, I feel reassured.
Dominic Knight

No more gawking at Hawkins

There is already far too much Jennifer Hawkins in this world, so I can’t help but applaud Auckland airport’s decision to ban a billboard featuring her in a skimpy bra. Not because I’m prudish, which seems to be the main reason for the decision, but because the joke on the sign may be one of the lamest ever. She’s cuddling a stuffed rhino against her Miss-Universe winning chest (oh that’s right, sorry, it was all about her personality, wasn’t it?) And guess what the slogan says? It asks whether the viewer is horny. Because rhinos have horns. Boom-tish!

I know what you’re thinking. Not “wow, those are breasts”, unless you’re male and under the age of 15. You’re thinking it’s the worst pun you’ve ever seen. And you’d be right. I don’t have any objection to ogling Jennifer Hawkins’ body; in fact, I’m marginally in favour of it. But I’m dead against jokes like that being aired in public, no matter how attractive the woman alongside it.
Consequently, I appreciate what the airport spokesman describes as a decision made due to sensitivity over other backgrounds. Yes, many backgrounds are offended by skimpy clothing. Feminists are offended by the blatant exploitation of women, although to be fair if Hawkins is getting paid for this crap I'd query who's exploiting who. Whereas my personal beliefs dictate that I get offended by this lame attempt at humour.
Not only that – it’s a ridiculous ad anyway. Lingerie’s usually purchased by women, isn’t it? And why would the ladies want to buy bras from ads that inquire whether they’re horny over Jennifer Hawkins? Bizarre.
I have also had trouble understanding why some media outlets have weighed into the Kiwis over a perceived lack of sense of humour. I was in the process of applauding them when I read the airport employee's defence. He says "If you straw-polled most of the people around our office they just had a good laugh and think it's great," he said. So perhaps we should be concerned about the Kiwis' sense of humour after all?
Come back, Elle Macpherson’s underwear campaign, all is forgiven. At least The Body never bothered us with lame puns.
Dominic Knight

Armed & Fatuous

There is an axiom in reality television that any show which bills itself as involving ‘famous’ people or ‘celebrities’ will exclusively feature has-beens. Celebrity Boxing, for instance, featured the likes of Screech from Saved By The Bell and Vanilla Ice, while I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, that most noxious of English inventions, will live on in perpetual infamy for having resurrected the careers of – and joined in marriage – Peter Andre and Jordan. Similarly, our own Celebrity Big Brother ‘starred’ Warwick Capper, Adriana Xenides and worst of all, Sara-Marie. So when I tell you that there’s a series in the US called Armed & Famous, you can pretty much guarantee that at least the second half of the title is going to be false.

To be fair, I’ve at least heard of four of the five dubious stars of this show, which takes formerly kind of famous people and makes them into police officers in the small town of Muncie, Indiana. And if you’re going to sign obscure celebrities, you should definitely make them funny. And so they have.
In particular, the signing of La Toya Jackson verges on the genius – her quote in the trailer alone is priceless. Wee Man is, as ever, funny because he’s short. Hilarious! Former ChiPs tv cop Erik Estrada is washed up and doesn’t seem to know it, Jack Osbourne is, well, far less interesting than his dad, and then there’s some former wrestler, which is inherently funny.
So having assembled a raggle-taggle selection of D-list misfits, the show then makes them police officers. Now, the process sounds funny – in particular the scene where they get tasered. Watching La Toya suffering excruciating pain is purely a matter of karma, whereas Wee Man – ha ha, he’s short! Well done! Brilliant! Such are the sophisticated delights of Armed & Famous.
The thing is, though, that they get given guns. Actual guns, that fire actual bullets. Now, that’s going substantially too far. It’s at this point where the premise stops being funny, and starts making me genuinely concerned for the wellbeing of the residents of Muncie, Indiana. Erik Estrada is clearly reliving his youth when he was skinny, famous, and got to fire fake bullets that, as is standard in all TV cop shows, never missed. And someone clearly suffering from flashback delusions should not be given a deadly firearm. Whereas La Toya can’t be trusted near a microphone, let alone a lethal weapon.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely in favour of throwing celebrity has-beens onto the giant funeral pyre that is reality television. Mr T’s I Pity The Fool, for instance, is one of the funniest things I’ve seen in ages. But reality television should never, ever actually be real. Arming a borderline insane ex-celebrity is one of the most irresponsible things television producers have done since the Celebrity Big Brother folk put Warwick Capper in a house full of cameras wearing pants that weren’t locked tightly around his waist.
Would you trust La Toya Jackson not to shoot to kill? Or Ozzy Osbourne's 'troubled' son? Someone’s going to die out there, I guarantee. And regrettably, it’s unlikely to be one of her fellow washed-up celebrities.
More importantly - please, I beg our TV networks, let’s not have an Australian version. I don’t want even the slightest chance of running into a heavily-armed Constable Hotdogs.
Dominic Knight

Coming soon: pirate nation

I’ve always been fascinated by micronations, those slices of the planet that some eccentric has tried to carve off and control for themselves. We have several in Australia, from the venerable Hutt River Province to the fairly humorous Empire of Atlantium, which seems to exist exclusively within a Potts Point apartment. But one of the few that have had any success in actually becoming a nation-state is Sealand, which is on sale for around a billion dollars. And if that wasn’t weird enough, a file-sharing website seems to be serious about trying to buy it to create an intellectual property law-free Nerdvana.

Sealand is a British Navy fort that was set up in the English Channel during World War II. It was abandoned after the war, and was seized by squatters until Major Roy Bates captured it and began pirate radio transmissions from it. The fort has now passed onto his son, “Prince” Michael who has made the decision to sell it.
A supposedly completely ‘free’ internet hosting service was set up there a few years ago, and it seems to still be operating today. Which is probably why the fort’s been valued so highly, and why The Pirate Bay, one of the world’s most popular BitTorrent software piracy sites, wants to buy it. The site provided links to lots of pirated material, so has been prosecuted in a number of countries. In an attempt to avoid the inconvenience of copyright law, its owners they've set up scheme to buy Sealand. Unfortunately, they’ve only managed to raise $13,000 so far – who’d have thought software pirates would be a bit cheap?
What I've always found hilarious about micronations is the way they purport to be real countries, with stamps, passports, ministries and even currency. Check out this statement from Sealand’s website:
Seven years later on 25 September 1975, Roy of Sealand proclaimed the Constitution of the Principality. Over time, other national treasures were developed, such as the flag of the Principality of Sealand, its national anthem, stamps, as well as gold and silver coins launched as Sealand Dollars. Finally, passports of the Principality of Sealand were issued to those who had helped Sealand in some way, though they were never for sale.
And their spin on letting a private (read porn and gambling) internet server set up there?
The presence of an active and rapidly growing high-tech internet industry in Sealand has changed the character of the Principality; once more, Sealand rings with the sound of voices, boasts regular support ferry services, and is host to a growing and dynamic population.
At times, though, it’s gotten bizarrely real:
In August of 1978, a number of Dutch men came to Sealand in the employ of a German businessman. They were there to discuss business dealings with Sealand. While Roy was away in Britain, these men kidnapped Prince Roy's son Michael, and took Sealand by force. Soon after, Roy recaptured the island with a group of his own men and held the attackers as prisoners of war.
During the time that he held the prisoners, the Governments of the Netherlands and Germany petitioned for their release. First they asked England to intervene in the matter, but the British government cited their earlier court decision as evidence that they made no claim to the territory of Sealand. Then, in an act of de facto recognition of Sealand's sovereignty, Germany sent a diplomat directly to Sealand to negotiate for the release of their citizen.
Roy first released the Dutch citizens, as the war was over, and the Geneva Convention requires the release of all prisoners. The German was held longer, as he had accepted a Sealand Passport, and therefore was guilty of treason. Prince Roy, who was grateful that the incident had not resulted in a loss of life, and did not want to bloody the reputation of Sealand, eventually released him as well.
Part of Sealand’s claims of independence are based on a court case in the 1970s where Roy was charged with firearm offences. Because Sealand is outside the then-three mile territorial limit, it was decided that the acts were outside the UK’s jurisdiction. The UK has subsequently extended its territory to 12 nautical miles, which includes Sealand, and US courts have thrown out its claims to independence.
Ironically, the very act of selling the property to a file-sharing site might be enough to end the seizure of Sealand. The UK Government hasn’t done much about it because it, unsurprisingly no longer wants a rusting sea fort in the middle of nowhere. But if it becomes controversial as a base for illegal activities, and if there’s pressure by the powerful recording and film industries, they’ll probably just take it back. Thereby wiping out the value of whatever the new owners will have paid for it. What a brilliant irony it would be for a bunch of software pirates to be done out of their money.
Sealand may well be the world’s biggest and best-organised cubbyhouse. If anyone’s interested in buying it, here’s the link for interested purchasers. You’ll do your money, of course - but hey, at least it was tax free...
Dominic Knight

Bindi tourism ads? What a croc...

I want lots of tourists to come to Australia. Really, I think it’s important for our nation to welcome travellers to come and experience the unique delights of Australia. So we should do whatever it takes to convince the world to spend their holidays with us. Except for one thing. I do not want visits from tourists who are convinced to come to Australia by an ad featuring Bindi Irwin.

There seems to be some doubt over whether Bindi will actually appear in a Lara Bingle-esque advertisement – presumably without the bikini or profanity, but who knows how low Tourism Australia will go? It’s been subsequently reported that the current ad is with us for another year, which would be good news if the current ad wasn't already so awful.
Are crocodile hunters (and huntresses) the best image for modern Australia, though? This is, of course, the saltie that Tourism Australia has always had to wrestle with – many of us are embarrassed by that ocker Paul Hogan image, but it’s what the punters overseas evidently want to see. Steve Irwin’s great success was that he used his upbringing on a wildlife park to actually become Crocodile Dundee, right down to the khakis. But these attempts to remake Bindi into Crocodile-Dundee-meets-the-Olsen-twins really make me cringe.
Look, I know Bindi lost her dad, and of course that was a terrible tragedy. A tragedy that I probably would have chosen to address via private grief, but the Irwins did everything for the cameras, so I guess it’s not surprising that they keep popping up on television screens around the world. It's the way this is used to relentlessly promote Bindi that I've got a problem with.
When John Lennon died, Yoko didn't hit the talk show circuit spruiking Sean's singing career. It just seems tasteless.
And come on, a few interviews is understandable, but Bindi’s addressing the National Press Club in Washington, for goodness’ sake. Why don’t we go the whole hog and make her UN Secretary-General while we’re at it?
Her emerging role as Prominent Australian Ambassador is also, frankly, a little concerning. The quote today where she says that she feels “like I am Dad” reflects the pressure that’s been put on her. Sure, a lot of it may have come from her – every little extroverted kid would lap up what she’s been doing, probably – but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good idea. And in particular, I don’t think we as a nation should be responsible for thrusting her further into the public spotlight.
Still, I’d rather they used Bindi than brought back Lara Bingle. At least she won’t be accused of breaking up prominent sportsmen’s marriages.
Dominic Knight

Send them in, clown

Despite it being the great, avoidable tragedy of the decade, part of me has rather enjoyed the endless quagmire that Iraq has become. It gives me the quiet satisfaction of justice being done – a sensation, incidentally, wholly absent from Saddam’s barbaric execution. The sheer hideousness of the outcome so perfectly highlights the idiocy of the idea, the inadequacy of its justification and the ineptness of its implementation. It’s like a Greek tragedy, with an act of hubris leading to inexorable nemesis. It's not unlike Oedipus, except that instead of the protagonist killing his father, he killed “the man who tried to kill my dad”. That, and I don’t even want to think about George Jr gettin’ it on with Barbara Bush.

The other difference is that in Greek tragedy, the hubris leads to the death of the protagonist. Which would have been more apt than the death of 3,000 American troops, and countless civilians. Still, President Bush has suffered a political death, at any rate, and has become such a ‘lame duck’, as the American jargon has it, that I’m astonished Dick Cheney hasn’t tried to hunt him.

And yet today we learn that despite the massive slap in the face that was the Democrats’ seizure of both Houses of Congress, President Bush wants to send 21,000 more troops to Iraq. Before we get onto this, one thing is abundantly clear. There should be no more Australian troops, and the ones that are there should be brought back as fast as possible. There is clearly no justification left for our presence there other than the most obvious one – our Prime Minister’s need to ingratiate himself with the US. Given our reliance on the US alliance for our defence, this was perhaps unsurprising. But it has gone on more than long enough. We’ve done our bit, and it’s time we left Bush to clean up his own mess.

And this is why I’m sympathetic to the idea of sending more troops. The Democrats have sought to oppose it, and I can understand why – it should resonate well with American voters. But I'm not sure that's right. The fact is that this situation is entirely the fault of the President and the Congress, who approved it at the time. To abandon Iraq now would be even crueller to ordinary Iraqis than the invasion was in the first place. It’s clear that the domestic forces have little to no chance of fixing things, and the hornet’s nest that Bush so incautiously poked still needs to be quietened.

There seems to be a consensus that not enough troops were sent initially, a decision that has been sheeted home to Donald Rumsfeld. If so, surely more is a good idea? Especially as it's still so clear that the numbers on the ground now are inadequate to secure the country. Whether even 20,000 more will suffice is also impossible to ascertain. Let’s hope they send sufficient numbers for the environment to become safer, rather than even more dangerous due to the increased number of target.

I do feel for the troops. I know people who have fought in Iraq, and the prospect of losing more people like them merely to gratify the grandiose vanity of an insipid simpleton does not exactly appeal. But what other choice does Bush, or the US, really have? Trying to actually end this farce properly is surely a better option – and a nobler one, even – than just washing their hands of the whole business.

The so-called Powell Doctrine – of intervening reluctantly, with clear and realistic objectives and with such an overwhelming force that you can achieve them without many casualties – has never looked better than it does from here. Especially when contrasted with the Bush Doctrine, which seems to be to intervene ignorantly, with little preparation, and make an open-ended commitment without enough troops to realistically achieve it, relying instead on foolish optimism. (Perhaps the Iraqis are just taking a really long time to put together those garlands of flowers with which we were told they’d welcome their liberators?) We can only hope that there are other commanders as restrained and pragmatic as Colin Powell within the US Army. And, more importantly, that the administration listens to them this time.

I don’t know enough about the situation on the ground to know whether the proposed plan will help matters much. But let’s hope that, for the first time, the Americans actually know what they’re doing.

Dominic Knight

Girls on film

I’d like to take this opportunity to offer a public caution to my many readers in the Brazilian supermodel community. Ladies, please - don’t have sex in public. Particularly in a place where there are lots of people watching you, some of whom might have video cameras. Like, I don’t know, say, the beach?

I’m still not entirely sure why Daniela Cicarelli and her trader boyfriend have tried so hard to suppress the video. All that she’s done is provide grist for the news mill in the ever-slow month of January. Even the most casual media observer knows that the media loves to report YouTube stories – to the extent that TIME even devoted its Person Of The Year to the topic. So whereas they might not have touched a story about a model and her boyfriend having sex on the beach and getting caught on film, an attempt to ban YouTube was always going to make headlines around the world.
And of course, it meant that millions of other websites sourced and replicated the video, thinking that there’s no smoke without fire. All her attempts to ban it have done is make it one of the biggest stories in the world.
And think of the publicity benefits for Cicarelli. She’s showed the world that she’s now pulled a guy with a better haircut than Ronaldo. I'd want to show that off if I were her.
Besides, Brazil’s supposed to be a sultry Latin country, isn’t it? The stereotypes say that people there have sex endlessly from dawn til dusk. I’d have thought a quick romp in the waves was about as innocuous as a handshake in the country that invented the Brazilian.
In an effort to stem the tide, Brazil Telecom has apparently blocked access to the whole of the YouTube site. Which must be giving Brazilians a welcome break from watching ‘hilarious’ videos at work. In fact, perhaps our ISPs should do it as well?
I watched it, in the interests of researching this post thoroughly, and I have to say that as far as embarrassing sex videos go, it’s very tame. Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton would trade videos in an instant.
Some sites have suggested that the real reason for the embarrassment is that the guy is seen stuffing seaweed down the front of his pants. Not the greatest look, but surely he can explain it away. Perhaps they have some kind of kinky sushi thing going on? Or perhaps after all that hot seaside lovin’, he needed to cool down in that general department with a soothing seaweed balm? And besides, he just got it on with a supermodel - on balance, he's still looking pretty good.
We live in a world of videophones now, and they’re increasing in quality. So if you’re famous, you can assume you’ll be photographed pretty much all of the time. Which is why Nicole Kidman’s going to lose her endless battle against the paparazzi, incidentally. She and Keith may as well take their holidays in the middle of Martin Place, for all the privacy she’s ever going to get.
So take the free publicity, Daniela, trade this boyfriend in for one who doesn't feel the need to shove marine life down his Speedos, and ride the dubious fame express all the way to becoming a B-movie star. House of Wax II is waiting.
Dominic Knight

Our State plan: wasting taxpayers' money

It's a rare experience to find myself agreeing with Peter Debnam, who consistently pulls off the remarkable feat of making Morris Iemma appear both competent and popular. But his comments on the State Government's expenditure on advertisements are spot on. Ever since those awful "State plan" ads started showing during the Brisbane Test, my blood's been boiling every time I see Morris Iemma spending our money propping up his mediocrity of a government.

The ads have been so transparently improper. Where Howard's were restricted to specific policies, at least, these try to encompass everything. With their abstract, feelgood phrases about things like "better living" and "respect and responsibility", they look exactly like party election ads, with plenty of imprecise mentions of more cops and nurses and the stuff that voters have evidently said in focus groups that they care about.

And I particularly love that Iemma spent more on advertising the plan - $2.6 million - than developing it. Could his priorities be any clearer?

Not only is the campaign woefully hamfisted, but it may well backfire. Since the Government has to stop short of explicitly saying "So, re-elect Morris Iemma!", what with it being publicly funded and all, voters might think all this nice stuff was happening anyway, rather than viewing it as contingent on leaving Labor in office. If good stuff's happening anyway, voters may think, why not give Debnam a run? Well, because he's quite scary, as David Marr's profile last year made clear – but that's a subject for another day.

It's a bit rich, of course, for a Liberal to be criticising the waste of taxpayers' money on advertising. The Howard Government has poured squillions into selling its less popular policies. But at least they do a half-decent job of it. Sure, they generally over-labour a metaphor, like the umbrellas for the private health rebate and throwing off chains for the GST (and what an ironic metaphor that was, in hindsight, for small business.) Most recently, it blew millions on the impossible task of making ordinary punters think that WorkChoices wouldn't hurt them.

But the article mentions that where the Federal Government came in fifth in the league table of big advertisers, the NSW Government came in seventh. I was gobsmacked by this. Not just because it's only a state, but because I can't remember a single dodgy NSW advertisement before the current crop. Really, if they're going to waste our money, they could at least do so effectively.

Debnam is particularly angry that the ads will continue until just before the election, and well he should. They might seriously detract from his chances of winning. So on second thoughts, perhaps the money's worth it?

If the Opposition Leader really wants to get voters behind him on this issue, though, there's one simple thing he can do. Promise not to spend a cent on dubious government advertising if elected Premier. But we've seen the Federal Liberal Party play the same game for a decade, and I fear that if Debnam is elected, the advertising we're subjected to may only get worse. As outrageous as they are, at least Morris Iemma's ads have never been responsible for endless repetitions of 'Unchain my heart'. With the Liberals in charge in NSW as well, we could be in grave danger of more Joe Cocker songs – perhaps even 'You Can Leave Your Hat On'.



Dominic Knight

Photo: Chris Colls (digitally merged)

Does David Hicks know it's Christmas?

So, David Hicks has been locked up in Guantanamo Bay for nearly five years. Britain and the US pulled their citizens out years ago, but John Howard doesn't see any need to avoid a trial by the US military commission that Britain, justifiably, feared would not try its citizens fairly. And how would someone react to five years of hellish, seemingly unending captivity? In particular, someone who, judging by his decision to fight alongside the Taliban, probably wasn't exactly tip-top mentally to begin with? Well, they'd have enormous problems. Which is why when I ask whether David Hicks knows it's Christmas, I don't mean it in the Band Aid sense of "can he, in his suffering, recognise that this is supposed to be the season of goodwill towards others". I'm asking whether, given his evident mental disintegration, he is even aware it's Christmas.

The news today is that he won't talk to his long-suffering, endlessly supportive Dad, which must be enormously hard for the man who's been tireless in his efforts to get something to happen. Clearly, David's doing it tough. And he's in solitary confinement, which is gruelling for anybody – let alone someone who's been locked up for five years and doesn't even get to contend with a normal, sensible, fair trial process.

Even some basic information about why Hicks is so dangerous that he has to be locked up would be nice. My suspicion is that he's the same as "Jihad" Jack, someone quite fragile and easily-led who made some mistakes, but ultimately not much of a threat to anyone. In particular, it's hard to imagine he's done anything warranting serving of more time than the five years he's already spent locked up.

So, if someone's clearly doing it tough, and there are grounds for believing they have become significantly disturbed, what do you do? Well, you send in an expert to assess them. But the Americans won't let us. What, pray tell, could possibly be wrong with sending the clinical director of Victoria's Forensic Mental Health Service in for a checkup? But no. Only US military psychologists, who we can have about as much confidence in as the kangaroo court he's about to face, are allowed to assess him.

As the indefatigable Major Mori said: "I want him to get help. He's not going to open up to his jailers." Yeah, you can imagine the conversation. "Hey David, it's getting up to five years that we've locked you up here – now, tell me how that makes you feel?"

But it's no less stupid, I guess, than being tried by the US military for something it isn't even clear is an offence. The argument the likes of Philip Ruddock run is that there's doubt he could be charged under Australian law. Fine, that's probably true. But uh, shouldn't he then be released? Why should American military law apply to an Australian in Afghanistan, anyway?

Amnesty has set up a page where you can email the PM about it. An admirable idea, and they're nearly at their goal of 30,000 messages. But I'm not confident John Howard would do anything about it even if he received 3 million emails.

Really, I'm tired of being angry about this issue. I'm tired of signing petitions, and talking about it, and hoping that humanity will prevail. I'm tired of pointing out that it's hypocritical for a nation to crow about introducing freedom and democracy to the Middle East while treating its captives in an inhumane way that violates centuries of hard-fought legal tradition over minimum human rights. I hardly have any anger left over David Hicks. All I have left is frustration and disappointment.

Apparently Hicks' rights are less important than John Howard's refusal to rock the boat with George Bush. American voters and even most Republicans have deserted Bush on Iraq. John Howard's about the only buddy he has left.

It'd be nice to think that for Christmas, the Prime Minister could show some clemency for once and call in the favour President Bush owes him, and get Hicks released. Hell, they can lock him up in one of the Howard Government's own dubious detention facilities if they want to. But at least they could let his family see him, and let him get proper psychological care at the very least. But of course, there's no chance of any of that. And even if Hicks is released, how much of his personality is even left after five years of Guantanamo brutality?

Perhaps, though, John Howard, Alexander Downer, Philip Ruddock and the rest of them might like to remember that a country really shouldn't be trying to lecture others about human rights and "civility" when it won't treat its own citizens with even the most minimal shred of humanity.



Dominic Knight

Congrats, TIME's Person Of The Year

Congratulations, readers of this esteemed blog. The venerable TIME magazine has deemed its Person Of The Year to be You. Well, this blog wasn't named specifically, but I'm sure they had us very much in mind when they discussed the explosion of user-generated content. That's right – the most significant contribution to the world this year by anyone was, in part, your comments right here on Radar. Users who generate content, I, like TIME, salute your world-beating excellence.

This strikes me as another one of those lamo attempts by an old-media publication to show that it's oh-so hip to the Digital Revolution. Mmm, yeah, YouTube and MySpace. Incredible. Facebook, Flickr, Wikipedia, Del.icio.us, Friendster, Second Life, blogging, yada yada yada. There hasn't been this much hype around the internet since the bubble burst five years ago. And most of that hype isn't user-generated. It's magazines like TIME flailing to pretend that they're staying abreast of changes that their own hype says will threaten their very existence.

They've tried awfully hard to write in a fresh, funky, dare I say blog-like style:



Who are these people? Seriously, who actually sits down after a long day at work and says, I'm not going to watch Lost tonight. I'm going to turn on my computer and make a movie starring my pet iguana? I'm going to mash up 50 Cent's vocals with Queen's instrumentals? I'm going to blog about my state of mind or the state of the nation or the steak-frites at the new bistro down the street? Who has that time and that energy and that passion?

The answer is, you do. And for seizing the reins of the global media, for founding and framing the new digital democracy, for working for nothing and beating the pros at their own game, TIME's Person of the Year for 2006 is you.

Will TIME no longer have a business if enough ordinary joes write on WikiNews and their blogs, and punters take photos of current events? Of course not. Because what all the hype fails to mention is that 99% of user-generated content is rubbish.

Everyone who's ever trawled through YouTube knows that the only good stuff on it is from broadcast TV. If you want to watch Warney's famous ball to Gatting, or Sacha Baron Cohen on Letterman, or Spinal Tap's anniversary concert, it's all there. But the stuff that goes 'viral', the weird random clips that the collective e-consciousness somehow decides is funny, is invariably trash. I just checked out YouTube's most popular clips for today, and almost all of them are ripped off television. The most popular user-produced clip is the 'Why I Don't Rap Rap'. Hardly a fitting winner of Person Of The Year.

Then there's MySpace. It's big, sure. For one thing, it's turned a generation of girls into cybergeeks – if anything, they're more into it than the guys. But it's also incredibly mediocre. Sure, it's fun to message your friends, chat up new people, check out bands and whatever else people do. But giving a bunch of teenagers an ability to send inane messages to each other is hardly the greatest achievement of 2006. MySpace is basically a place where people SMS for free, with pictures.

I sound like a dangerous iconoclast, don't I? But this is a blog. Meaning that I too am part of that future. So, deal with it. Perhaps by commenting, adding your unique and special voice to the collection of e-chatter that TIME thinks is so awesome?

But the next time someone hassles you for blogging at work, you'll know what to say. You're not wasting time. You're participating in the digital revolution that has made you TIME's Person Of The Year. So tell your boss to bugger off and stop being so Web 1.0.



Dominic Knight

Build her up just to tear her down...

I feel so sorry for Iktimal Hage-Ali. So sorry, in fact, that I've had to dust off a lyric from Mossy's hit, 'Tucker's Daughter'. No sooner does she start to get some real profile as a young, sensible, tolerant Muslim leader than the frenzied media go her because she was questioned by police in relation to an alleged cocaine ring. She's become the unfortunate intersection of two tabloid hysteria targets – Islam and drugs. And it's ruined nearly everything she's accomplished. Her ill-fated News Ltd blog was called "It's My Country Too", but she could be forgiven for not feeling that way at the moment.

Even the Muslim community is taking pot-shots at her as well for drinking champagne the night she won the award. How depressing. That's right, let's not focus on the positives of a young Muslim woman being recognised, let's get dogmatic about the manner in which she happened to celebrate. Her sip of champers showed she has adopted some mainstream community standards in lieu of her own, admittedly, but in Australia in 2006, that's okay. We aren't run by the Taliban (no, we've got Family First instead), and that means that everyone's allowed to find their own position on the broad spectrum between fundamentalism and atheism in this country.

But let's take the worst case scenario – let's assume she used cocaine. (Surely no-one's suggesting she's a drug dealer.) I have no idea whether she did. But if she did, really, so what? Is it really any worse than getting, say, blind drunk?

I know it's a criminal offence, but come on. The reality is that lots of people in this country, lots of successful, admirable people, occasionally use coke. It's a normal part of many people's social lives. Personally, I don't use it, and find people who do fairly irritating. But I wouldn't expect them to give back an award because of it. For us to continue to get up in arms about it seems naive. If guilty, all she has done is behave like thousands of other young, hedonistic Australians.

So in summary, what's happened is that a promising young woman has been forced to give up an exciting new job blogging for News Ltd, suspended from her regular job with the Attorney-General's department and had to give back Young Australian of the Year because she might have used cocaine. Sure, if she did, it was a little irresponsible and foolish. She would have been wiser not to give her opponents anything they can use to attack her, and I'm sure she'll be wiser now. But for goodness' sake, she's 22.

And really, one previous Australian of the Year was resident in Bermuda for tax purposes and no-one made him give the award back. I found that more objectionable than this scenario.

I don't know much about Hage-Ali, but one ironically prescient opinion piece about media hysteria indicates that she's intelligent, well-spoken and a passionate advocate of Muslim values who is capable of engaging sensibly with the arguments posed by Westerners. Given the dearth of positive young Islamic role-models, it seems tragic to be destroying one of the few we have.

I just hope she comes out of this stronger and more determined. Clearly, if she wants to make it in Australian society as an opinionated Muslim woman, she's going to have to put up with a lot more attacks from people like these ones from both inside and outside her community.

Dominic Knight

Photo: Channel 7

A column about Pinochet

We had a bit of good news in the paper last week – General Augusto Pinochet died. He was, of course, the Chilean tyrant who the US backed in a 1973 coup, and went on to systematically assassinate and torture thousands of his opponents. Most damningly of all, he was a good mate of Margaret Thatcher’s.

My best friend in primary school was Chilean and, I now realise, a refugee from Pinochet. We lost touch in high school, but I’ve been thinking of him as I’ve been reading read obituaries of the dictator. My friend’s father had been ‘disappeared’ in Chile, so he’d come to Australia as a small boy, along with his mother and sister. The family had to change their surname, choosing something generically Aussie that sat a little awkwardly with their Spanish names. (I won’t name them, because I’m aware that enemy agents regularly read this column as one of the leading indicators of what’s happening in Australia.)

We were great friends from the age of 6, constantly visiting each other’s houses to ride bikes and play computer games. I was always welcomed with open arms. And all the while I was magnificently oblivious to the tragedy that had displaced this family to a small apartment on the other side of the world. All I knew was that my friend’s mother had an unfamiliar accent and cooked more interesting food than we usually had at home.

Looking back, I cannot imagine how it must have felt to lose a father or husband, and not even to know whether he was alive or dead. Even in Australia, the family was threatened thanks to Operation Condor, a co-ordinated campaign by South America’s right-wing military dictators and the US Government which sent teams of assassins into neighbouring countries and even the West to take out political opponents. Le Monde Diplomatique estimates that under this programme, 50,000 were killed, 35,000 ‘disappeared’ and 400,000 imprisoned.

Refugees have been a political football for years now, but thinking back on my friend’s story reminds me why it’s so important to offer asylum to the victims of this kind of oppression. Even in Australia, the family were genuinely in fear of their lives. I can’t imagine what that must have been like – but imagine if they’d stayed in Chile.

We need to hear these stories to remember why it’s so important to keep taking people in, and also so we can feel good about ourselves when we do. I’m proud that Australia could offer my friend a better life, but I’d be even more proud if we increased the current intake, which is behind 31 other countries, according to TEAR Australia.

Looking back on Pinochet is also fairly depressing in light of Iraq. The Allende government that was deposed by Pinochet had been democratically elected, but because it was socialist, President Nixon ordered Henry Kissinger to remove it. The result was no elections in Chile for 17 years. America has unsuccessfully interfered with other countries’ policies in the name of freedom for decades. It doesn’t seem far-fetched to imagine that without American interference in Chile, my friend might never have lost his father. How many more kids are losing their dads to insurgents’ bombs in Iraq today?

Unlike so many other countries (most recently Fiji), Australia has never had a military coup. We’ve never had to watch what we say. Our fathers and husbands have never disappeared, leaving us doubting for years whether we’d see them again. Because we are so fortunate, we worry instead about minutiae like interest rates and cricket. But we should remember that there are still Pinochets in the world, and that we need to do something about them. And most of all, we should not be complicit in creating them. America should think very carefully before it meddles in the affairs of other countries, and we should think equally carefully before we help them do it.