Haneef is a character test for all of us

The Haneef case is back in the headlines again this week, and with Kevin Andrews promising to appeal against the decision to overturn his ban on the good (or otherwise?) doctor's visa, and the family's determination to take it to the High Court if necessary, we're more or less guaranteed it will stay there. I don't know whether Haneef is a terrorist mastermind or not. But, like many, I strongly suspect the latter, and his recent decision to release the whole of his second interview transcript seems to help him establish this. The case raises important questions about where we, as a society, draw the line between national security concerns and our values as an open, welcoming community. And, so far, like Andrews when he tries to explain why he doesn't want Haneef here, we just don't have good enough answers.

I had an interesting discussion with a friend recently who was only too happy to advocate the suspension of civil liberties in cases of suspected terrorism. Haneef's detention didn't bother him at all, he said. What if you had kids, he asked me emotively, and locking someone up could save them from being blown up? And it's not a bad question, although I'd like to think I'm reasonably opposed to other people's children being blown up as well.
The thing is, I'm not a huge fan of innocent people being locked up, or denied visas, either. Every Haneef situation chips away at Australia's precious openness, its wonderful easygoingness, its willingness to give people from around the world a chance to become part of its society. And that's why I think we need more than just guilt-by-association in this situation.
Look, if Haneef has been involved with anything dubious himself, of course we should tear up his visa forever – of course. We have been extremely fortunate to avoid any terrorist attacks on Australian soil since 9/11, and there is no doubt that we need to be vigilant. But it simply isn't reasonable to punish someone because their relatives were alleged terrorists. I have a lot of cousins with considerable integrity, and I'd hate for them to be thought worse of because of my own brush with the law. (Speaking of which, I didn't actually get my gear off – I was filming. And yes, I'm still waiting for damages from Fairfax.) Similarly, Peter Costello cannot be held responsible for all of his brother Tim's deeply concerning links with charity.
What the Haneef situation tells us is that there is something wrong with our immigration regime, which concentrates enormous power in the hands of the Immigration Minister. This discretion approach would not work even in the hands of a competent minister. Whereas, we have Kevin Andrews, who floundered on Lateline last night. Andrews seems to think that the word "terrorist" is some kind of magic totem that renders him impervious to criticism – Tony Jones didn't buy it. And nor would any viewer. If Andrews can't make a better defence of his decision than the limp claim that "It goes to potentially people who have knowledge of things that have occurred in a terrorist way," it's hardly surprising so many people are sceptical about his claims.
His mantra that there is other evidence that can't be released because it would prejudice ongoing investigations is, by its nature, irrefutable so long as that evidence is not in the public domain. But this is unsatisfactory for all concerned – not least Andrews, who's left without the means to exonerate himself – and the tidbits he's presented so far have only bolstered the sceptics.
Moreover, since these decisions are made by a politician, it's impossible to leach the unpleasant taste of politics from the decision. Not only does it undermine the credibility of the decision, but it leaves the minister with no real grounds to defend himself from criticism if the decision is correct. In the absence of a smoking gun (or 4WD, perhaps), Andrews has little to no chance of convincing many that this isn't another attempt by the Howard Government to blow its proverbial dog whistle by showing its toughness on dubious immigrants. This should be a decision that is primarily about public safety & that is, law and order, not policy. And politicians are not good at making legal decisions. That's why we have a judiciary.
I'm not calling for a judicial inquiry like Labor, incidentally. That doesn't go far enough. Rather, the decision on whether to grant Haneef's visa – and indeed all controversial visa applications, even Snoop Dogg's – should be made by an independent review tribunal that is able to hear confidential evidence in camera so as to avoid compromising ongoing investigations, but is otherwise open to the public. Politics must be taken out of the process. Ultimately, the decision to cancel a visa is a judicial decision involving weighing evidence. Either Haneef is a threat or he isn't, and I think it's clear by now that Andrews is not the right person to make the judgment call.
Sure, passing these kinds of situations to an independent body would make it difficult for the Immigration Minister to front up on the news and look tough on migrants, but I wouldn't exactly view that as a disadvantage. And I've no doubt that even Andrews would now be happy for this particular hot potato to be passed onto someone else.
There are some positives to be drawn from the Haneef affair, though. The intense media scrutiny, the heated protests, and the public's apparent refusal to simply take the Government's statements at face value show that many of us place an enormous premium on our civil liberties, and – more contentiously – those of migrants. Australians are often accused of apathy as our liberties are eroded – an allegation David Marr raised recently. The public outrage over Haneef is a powerful counterexample.
At this point, surely Haneef is no threat to national security. Even in the extraordinarily unlikely event that he actually was involved in any terrorism, by this point the chances of him getting up to anything are surely non-existent. ASIO and the media will be watching him like hawks. Unless there is something seriously problematic that Andrews is keeping from us – and we're now at the point where he needs to come up with much better answers, or risk the complete erosion of the public's confidence in him – we should reissue Haneef's visa immediately.

Can you get double or nothing on the ASX?

I wish I could find it in my heart to find a little more sympathy for the nation's shareholders, I really do. But the news that the All Ordinaries has dropped 10% in the past 19 days, thereby officially counting as a "correction", had a certain bitter irony to it. Because despite all the endless energy pumped into financial reporting, stock analysts and the business media, despite all the incredible intellects that devote themselves to plotting the trajectories of numbers, the sharemarket is, at the end of the day, a casino. No wonder the Packers are good at business.

I've seen the ASX trading floor, and it looks a lot like a pokie – it's noisy and there are lots of flashing lights that record how you're doing your money. So really, when you take a loss like this, you should be able to double up. Or better yet, win a feature.
Or perhaps a more suitable analogy might be a game of Jenga, where you progressively build it up until it gets too high, and then there's a "correction", like the one we've just had. Generally involving gravity. This phrase always amuses me as well, because most hardened capitalists like to say the market's always right. Except for when it's totally, massively wrong, of course, which is when it "corrects". Like it was about the US subprime mortgage market.
The market, of course, is nothing more than millions of individual transactions, all mysteriously aggregated. Which is why I also find the capitalist emphasis on individualism so ironic. Because few things, in fact, support the New Age assertion that we're all connected like financial markets. Why, you may ask, have those who've put their savings into shares taken an absolute pounding today? Because American financial institutions issued dodgy loans – in some cases to people without assets, income or employment. "Subprime" really is a euphemism. The best way to describe these high-risk loans, evidently, is the "dodgy", or perhaps "crappy" mortgage market. With banks playing the role of the loan sharks, now furiously kneecapping those they never should have lent money to in the first place.
Another illustration of the interconnected nature of the global economy came in the form of the Asian financial crisis of a decade ago, when several nations' economies tanked thanks, in part, to currency speculation. So it may be more accurate to say that we are all, in fact, connected to George Soros.
I'm not especially gritting my teeth today, because, ladies and gentlemen, I don't own a single share. (Yes, you'd think they'd reward consistently superb writing like this with a parcel of Fairfax securities, but it seems they don't know their luck.) I started a CommSec account once, when I had a bit of cash but didn't actually get around to buying anything. Well, any shares, anyway – I did buy a Playstation 2. It all seemed too hard, and really, I had no idea what to buy. The only smart investment decision I ever made was not to touch Telstra with a ten-foot barge pole, although that was more motivated by lifelong resentment than financial sagacity.
Which makes me think that if I want to build wealth, I should seriously consider becoming a professional blackjack player rather than buying shares. At least I kind of understand the rules.
Housing's good too, of course. At the risk of making a bad pun, it has a wonderfully concrete quality. It can crash, albeit not so regularly, but compared with share certificates, it has the wonderful quality of keeping away rain and cold. And sure, I know that over time, the stock market has accumulated more quickly than housing. But so it should – it's far more nebulous, and far more prone to "corrections".
But despite my total non-participation in the share market, I'll feel it. We all will, whether though rising rents or mortgage interest rates. Because we're all connected to each other through the inextricable web of capitalism.
So, the foolish risk-taking of American banks will affect all of us to some degree. Much as we all have to pay for a costly war through our taxes because of the foolish risk-taking of George Bush. And I resent that. We shouldn't have to pay more rent or repayments in Sydney because overpaid analysts stuffed up at Bear Sterns in New York. As with Iraq, the foolish optimism of Americans ultimately affects everyone. In fact, I've a good mind to choreograph a controversial Rock Eisteddfod piece about the subprime lending market. And I don't care if the President'll be here or not.

A column about APEC

It’s still a few weeks away, but I’m already over APEC. Whenever I’m in the city, scary-looking helicopters fly noisily overhead, and then there are those annoying ads everywhere. I can’t believe that this stupid summit has given the Federal Government yet another reason to waste money on expensive advertisements.

Preparations are well underway. And I must single out CityRail, who have done a wonderful job of preparing us for APEC by gradually lowering our expectations over the last few years. When they shut down several of the city’s train stations for the summit, most of us probably won’t even notice.

Originally, APEC seemed like a sweet deal, because we were going to be compensated for the inconvenience with a bonus public holiday. And I’m always happy to be bribed with vacations. But unfortunately that benefit is just about to be cancelled out, because President Bush has just announced he’s coming early. He’s coming early to spend some quality time hangin’ with his homie John Howard, probably for the last time while they’re both still in office. And I guess it’s understandable – our beloved PM is just about the only buddy he’s got left.

But the upshot of the earlier visit is that all the security plans have been thrown into turmoil and, according to some reports, costing us taxpayers millions of dollars in extra security. Thanks to the earlier visit, we’ll all have to put up with pretty much a whole week of massive interruptions, just to accommodate a world leader that most of us – and also most of America, by now – wish had never taken office.

When he arrives, we’re all going to get that annoyed feeling you get when an unwelcome relative comes to stay, and everyone has to shift bedrooms. Only this particular annoying relative is so important that anywhere he needs to go, there’s a massive motorcade, and hundreds of Secret Service agents and even snipers on the surrounding rooftops. Honestly, President Bush’s visit would be a massive hassle and inconvenience even if we liked the guy.

Is all of this security really necessary? Honestly, can’t the guy take his chances? It’s not like they’d be assassinating the real President – as always, Dick Cheney will be secure in his undisclosed location.

Bush is making his social visit a few days early because he has to return to the White House before the end of APEC in order to prepare for the progress report in Iraq. Well, how about I save us Sydneysiders a whole lot of hassle, and give the President his report a few weeks early? Iraq is a debacle. You were wrong. There. Now, Mr President, would you mind leaving us in peace for those extra few days? I’m sure that you and John have a lot to commiserate about – poor approval ratings, electoral disasters and tainted legacies for starters – but can’t he come and stay at your ranch after he loses office or something?

I know the President won’t be inconveniencing us quite as much as he has the residents of Baghdad, for instance, but they are going to fill our city with cement barriers, creating a Green Zone around the Opera House and the rest of the “APEC Precinct”. (Let’s hope this one is better at keeping out bombs than the Baghdad version.) Military personnel will be everywhere, and the police will be allowed to search anyone. You can expect they’ll give those wonderful new arbitrary arrest powers a really thorough workout as well. By the end of the weekend, there will in all likelihood be dozens of new Dr Haneefs to be locked up all over the city.

Quite apart from all the delays and other inconveniences, the security presence sounds like it’s going to make it genuinely scary to travel around the city during APEC. I think I’m going to spend the long weekend in a more tranquil, relaxed city. Beirut, perhaps?

All aboard for Kev 2.0?

I'm not sure that this is the reaction that Labor's webmasters were aiming for, but I couldn't help wincing a little when I took my first tour of Kevin07.com. It looks so much like Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton's sites, with the red and blue colourscheme that's universal in American politics. And the decision to call him Kevin throughout the site, like he's our friend, is really quite cringe-inducing, even though it'll probably help to make him seem more accessible. I blame Sunrise.

And wow, look at all the fresh'n'funky ways you can superficially connect to Kevin! MySpace! YouTube! FaceBook! Mobile phone wallpapers! Forget Gmail, he's got Kmail! By gum, this isn't Web 2.0, it's Politics 2.0!
I have to confess that I couldn't resist poking Kevin Rudd via Facebook. But only to see if I could make his hair move.
Kevin07 commits the most unforgivable sin on the internet – it tries way, way too hard. It's so busy being in your face about how hip it is that it forgets to actually be it.
Most lame of all is all the interactivity guff. "This space is not about us - it's about you", the site coos. What rubbish. Come on, this is Australia, not America. We know that websites like this are about capturing our vote on election day, not getting all of us to hold hands and sing Kumbaya while we triumphantly propel Rudd into the Lodge.
And you have to ask yourself who Kevin07.com is going to convince who isn't already inside the Rudd tent. I doubt many undecided voters will pop through and think "I was going to vote Howard because of his record on economic manangement, but hang on, Kevin Rudd's on MySpace."
They're also trying to build a blogging community. Blogging first started to make an impact in the primaries before the 2004 Presidential election. Howard Dean's revolutionarily interactive website had a blogging component, blogforamerica.com, where those drinking the Dean KoolAid rapturously wrote about how different their guy was. It was soon matched by blogsforbush.com, and since then blogging has become a part of every campaign - most prominently on Barack Obama's website. So it isn't surprising that blogs have become a part of Kevin07's attempt to stake out all the online ground as Labor's.
But I'll be fascinated to see if anyone who isn't a Labor flunkie actually bothers to start a pro-Rudd blog. And that's because there's a massive gulf between the online political culture in Australia and America. Most political blogs - certainly on the left - are fuelled by idealism, and that just isn't as prevalent in our more cynical society. The primaries also make a difference - as candidates jostle for the nomination, they have to build up a base of supporters, and that means spending a lot of time defining what they are 'for', in highly abstract, highly rhetorical speeches, delivered with their hands on their hearts that fuels all of this idealism.
By contrast, no-one's salivating over how Kevin Rudd will transform politics. He has no Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama's book laying out his own personal vision for a Better World. And Labor's attempts to use expensive US-style ads that romanticise his personal story aren't why he's in the lead. No-one believes passionately in the glistening Rudd vision for Australia - even the man himself, I suspect. If he's elected, it will be because we're sick of the Howard Government, and Rudd seems competent, and (let's be honest) younger and therefore more in touch. End of story.
And it's the 'younger' aspect that is the most important aspect of Kevin07. Because there is no way his opponent would ever launch a site called John07 – or perhaps more accurately, given the need to semi-rhyme and own particularly retro brand of idealism, John51.
For starters, no-one ever calls the Prime Minister "John". He seeks always to brand himself as "the Prime Minister", and thereby render himself as inaccessible as possible. Whereas Kevin07 is about telling the internet-savvy generation that Rudd is one of them, that he "gets it", and isn't over the hill. His policy for faster broadband is an attempt to do the same thing. Rudd fits as naturally into a flashy but slightly annoying website as Howard does on the wireless.
I won't be spending much time visiting Kevin07.com. But its existence amply demonstrates shows why John Howard is freaking out so much that his campaign strategy now seems to be playing superhero with the states. (And really, it's beginning to get embarrassing. Federally-funded plebiscites on local council amalgamations? Holy irrelevancy, Batman!) There's simply no getting around the fact that Kevin Rudd is younger, and fresher, and has newer ideas than John Howard. And that's what Labor is desperate to make this campaign all about.
Personally, I'll be ostracising anyone who put a cheesy "KEVIN 07" button that they've downloaded from this website in their email signature. But I'll bet a whole lot of people do.

Effete? Melbourne? Bring it on!

At breakfast on Saturday I was incensed by John Thorpe's words in the Herald, so much so that I must confess I spilt my latte all over my ciabatta. Thorpe, who is the NSW President of that august body known as the Australian Hotels Association, is trying to stop Sydney City Council from liberalising liquor laws so that we can have smaller, Melbourne-style laneway bars. Of course, he doesn't fancy the competition, so he's doing everything he can to stop it from happening. Including verballing those like me who happen to like Melbourne's laneway bars. Well, Thorpe, this will not stand. As Jordan from Top Model so eloquently put it, game on, moll.

"We aren't barbarians, but we don't want to sit in a hole and drink chardonnay and read a book", he says. Speak for yourself, buddy. I'm quite fond of books, chardonnay – and, sure, sitting in holes, if that's how you want to define Melbourne's lovely small bars.

But Thorpe isn't in favour of speaking, at least not in pubs. When his precious industry is threatened, you can't shut him up, but he reckons no-one in this city likes the apparently "effete" art of conversation. I'm sorry, John, I know that you see this as "baloney", "pie in the sky stuff" and "not what Sydney wants". From your perspective, it seems that what Sydney wants is to mindlessly feed banknotes into poker machines – after all, that's how you're remunerated. But there are exceptions, and for us, your industry offers absolutely nothing.

"There's a lot more entertainment than sitting there chatting. I think our culture is a little different than Melbourne because they haven't got this magnificent harbour and the Opera House. No wonder they want to sit in a hole in the wall," he said.
Firstly, it's crass to make this a Sydney-Melbourne thing. It's not just Melbourne that offers intimate places to drink. There are bars like this in New York, Tokyo, Bangkok, Rome, Shanghai, Paris &ndash and even (shudder) Adelaide. The lack of options, in fact, is uniquely Sydney.

And I'm sorry, come again? Entertainment in pubs? Long gone as your members let pokies do the job of bringing in punters instead of bands, except with a very few exceptions. Oh whoops, you probably meant the football.

Which is great. I love watching football in pubs. Just not every time.

And this, of course, is the thing that is most outrageous about Thorpe's attempts to stop the development of smaller bars. No-one is suggesting we close down Sydney's mega-pubs. It would just be nice to have a few alternatives. I think it's called "freedom of choice" or something.

Take the cinema district, home to such wonderful watering-holes as Bar Ace, Moloney's, the Star Bar and Three Wise Monkeys. Look, if you want to snog a backpacker, or play pool, or get into a fight, or get frisked with a metal detector on the way in because of fears about gang activity, then those venues have it covered. But if you want to, I don't know, talk, then there's nothing for you in among all those 24-hour pubs.

Then he starts warning us about prices. "The bottle of wine from Dan Murphy's at $8 will cost you $50 at this intimate establishment," he says. I'm surprised he's heard that Dan Murphy's charges $8 for a bottle of wine, because the bottle shops operated by his members certainly don't. And frankly I'd gladly pay $50 just for a place where the music was soft, the atmosphere was reasonably intimate, and there weren't pokies.

Thorpe promised to visit the office of every minister he could "to inform them that this doesn't entice investment into the industry", apparently. No doubt he'll be listened to, given the AHA's symbiotic relationship with the NSW ALP. And the rest of us will once again have to suffer from the appalling lack of options in a city that boasts only overly loud mega-pubs and ultra-pricey, over-designed bars with unjustifiable levels of door-bitch arrogance. (Yes, De Nom, I'm talking about you.)

It's just outrageous. For heavens' sake, our publicans have a near monopoly on operating gambling in NSW. I can't imagine why anyone would think it sensible to legalise gambling only in places where you can buy products that reduce their judgement, but that's the way it is.

Neil Armfield recently compared publicans operating pokies to dealers peddling heroin, and he's got a point. With their incredible capacity to generate profits from their pokies, the last thing pubs need is protection from smaller operators – especially since these laneway bars wouldn't have gambling (part of their appeal, of course), which would protect larger pubs' biggest earner.

There is no conceivable harm to opening smaller bars across Sydney; not even to the AHA members, given that they make so much of their profits from gambling. And really, I would have thought from Thorpe's dismissive tone that he'd rather tossers like myself didn't darken ordinary punters' good old Aussie pubs.

It's time we liberalised our embarrassing drinking laws. Other than the naked self-interest of a lobby group that already has it far too good, I can't see any good reason not to allow smaller bars in our inner-city. People don't binge drink, vomit and get into fights at Melbourne's intimate laneway bars. Nor do they become addicted to gambling and lose their week's wages. Get your own establishments in order, Mr Thorpe, and let the rest of us choose where we'd like to have a drink.

Bye bye, Bracksy, goodbye

It's so rare for politicians to leave office at the time of their choosing that it always comes as a shock. But where Bob Carr left office in 2005 with perfect timing after a decade in power, Steve Bracks' resignation is a sadder, more sudden affair. He's only 52, and only eight months into a term. So while he may have claimed that it was the right decision for his State and party, it's highly unlikely they'll be agreeing today.

The decision to "spend more time with his family", as it's always put in these situations, is understandable, since Bracks' son Nicholas, 20, was recently charged with drink-driving. I wrote recently about the tendency of politicians' children to get involved in these situations – Al Gore's son was the most recent in a long list that includes President Bush twice, as both a political parent and a misbehaving child. While Bracks has claimed his children are grounded – and judging by his own personality, that seems likely, being a public figure's child is never an easy cross to carry.
While Bracks has said his son's mishaps weren't the only reason, he has admitted that "I just felt hopeless and useless and you can't help feeling a bit of a failure in some ways as a parent" – a more honest, human response than most pollies would have given in this situation. While his son must be feeling terrible today, it's a statement, and an act, that really shows why Bracks became so popular with the Victorian electorate – because he really does seem like a decent bloke. He wasn't obsessed with retaining power in the manner that has led John Howard to what still seems to be a likely downfall. Nor has he taken a self-indulgent extended farewell in the tacky manner of Tony Blair. Bracks has simply acknowledged that he's had enough, so he has decided to leave. Making this one final classy decision from a leader who rarely put a foot wrong in his relationship with the public.
This is very bad news for Labor, though, which has now lost two of its three unbeatable long-term East Coast Premiers. With Beattie mulling over retiring as well, the ALP's total dominance in State and Territory parliaments is seriously threatened, particularly if Bracks' replacement has the charisma of Morris Iemma. So it was interesting to hear that Kevin Rudd was keen to try and retain his services, but, unsurprisingly under the circumstances, Bracks has ruled out standing federally. Popularity like Bracks' could have made an enormous asset to Labor in Victoria, if not nationally.
Bracks achieved the ultimate accolade from the Victorian public – the nickname Bracksy, reminiscent of that other affable Victorian MP, Bob "Hawkey" Hawke. (Peter Beattie's surname came pre-formed for political office in the XXXX State.) He was one of those few politicians that everyone would have liked to have a beer with, a stark contrast to the antiseptic professionalism of Kevin Rudd, who is the national equivalent of Bob Carr.
I met Bracks very briefly last year at the AFIs, shortly after he won his most recent election. As always he was out spruiking the virtues of Melbourne, and predictably he was surrounded by admirers wanting to shake his hand. Even after he'd been pressing the flesh for hours, he seemed extremely friendly. Mired as we were in the tepid contest between Morris Iemma and Peter Debnam, it was frustrating to look south and see a charismatic, popular leader on offer. My colleagues and I asked him if we wouldn't like a new challenge, like perhaps running for Premier of NSW instead. He laughed and said something unconvincingly nice about Iemma, of course. But we would have been better off.
His government hasn't been a visionary, reforming one like Jeff Kennett's was – unsurprisingly, really, since Kennett's vision proved dystopic for so many. He's been rather like Bob Carr – an efficient manager who kept the show on the road and presided over a sporting contest that was probably too expensive, but made everyone feel good. Like Carr, he wasn't expected to become Premier, but once he had the job he proved immovable. The difference is that while Carr's record has been significantly tarnished since his departure, with NSW's infrastructure woes leaving many with negative memories of his time in office, Bracks will leave Victoria wanting more. And that is the mark of a rare politician.

A column about surviving disasters

Residents and workers of the City of Sydney, Clover Moore has spoken, so it’s time to prepare your Go Bags! Have a backpack ready at all times, with water, sneakers, spare keys, a radio, toilet paper, and, most bizarrely, a notepad and pen in case you want to do a quick sketch of the disaster as it unfolds.

Do it today, so that when we’re living in a horrifying, post-Apocalyptic world, you won’t be able to say that we at The Glebe didn’t warn you.

Apologies to those readers who don’t spend part of their day in the Sydney CBD, but unfortunately you don’t live in the main terrorist target area, so you miss out on all the excitement. But also the possibility of death. So, not a bad trade-off, really.

I don’t mean to heap too much scorn on the City of Sydney’s “Let’s Get Ready, Sydney” campaign (check out the relaxing bright orange website at www.cityofsydney.nsw.gov.au/getreadysydney), even though it sounds more like an attempt to get the people of this fair city out on the dancefloor than ready for a large-scale disaster. Move it, Sydney, get busy! Wave your hands in the air! No, like you’re dancing, not like you’re panicking.

But really, it’s sensible advice to be ready for a terror attack. After all, our partners in the Coalition of the Willing have endured them (but don’t worry, John Howard, we know you don’t think Iraq made us more of a terrorist target), and when it happens here, the Go Bags will probably be fairly helpful. They’ll certainly be of more use than a fridge magnet.

Speaking of which, even though the Federal Government helped to fund the campaign, I disagree with those who’ve called it another cynical piece of Liberal scaremongering, designed to sow fear ahead of this year’s election – and not just because the Coalition has little credibility left on these issues. The fact is that even a Tampa-sized information sheet couldn’t unseat Labor’s Tanya Plibersek in the safe seat of Sydney.

Sorry, I’ll just wait while you go and pack yourself a Go Bag, it mustn’t wait a moment longer. I know you want to finish the rest of the column, but don’t worry – it’ll be a reward once you’ve placed some cash and credit cards into the bag, as the Council advises. Yes, right where a burglar can easily find them.

Welcome back. But I hope you haven’t put the bag away yet, because there are few extra things you’ll want to add. I think that if I was gazing on the rubble-filled ruins of my beloved city, a hip flask would come in handy. Prophylactics would also be useful – I remember reading that in the aftermath of 9/11, casual “disaster sex” was rife as people wrestled with their own mortality, and it’s best to be prepared. If you survive a terrorist attack, the last thing you need to do is fall victim to some disease instead.

The Green Deputy Lord Mayor Chris Harris responded to Moore’s brochure with some flippant suggestions, including a copy of the Good Food Guide. But that’s actually a good idea. We Sydneysiders are serious about our food, and if I was starving after hiding underground for days while the radiation dissipated, the last thing I’d want to do when I emerged is eat at a restaurant with only one hat.

In case that the attack is severe, you should pack some back issues of The Glebe, so that previous instalments of this column can form the primary text upon which a new civilization is built. Feel free to erect monuments in my honour to provide hope to the shattered survivors. And when you painstakingly carve statues of me with a pocket knife (oh yeah, pack one of those as well), please bear in mind that I’m much more handsome than the caricature.

Thanks to the City of Sydney’s helpful information, I will sleep a little safer using my Go Bag as a pillow. Thanks, Clover. And you know, I’d have taken her advice even more seriously if, at the time of launching the campaign, she’d actually bothered to make one for herself.

The curse of CityRail

Sydney is supposed to be a major global city. We're constantly telling ourselves how world-class we are, and major surveys keep agreeing – most recently we were ranked fifth best city in the world to visit. And we are the largest city in a wealthy, highly developed nation. So can someone explain to me, in extremely simple terms, why our train system is reminiscent of a third world country – or, worse still, England?

The problems always seem to be so minor, but happen so infuriatingly frequently. An electrical fault on the bridge, a hatch cover flies off, two carriages lose power. Each time, unreserved apologies are issued and we're told it won't happen again, that it's the government's top priority, and so on. And yet nobody has confidence in the system.
Which is not exactly surprising, because the system has never been reliable. I commuted across the bridge to school every day for a decade, and the "trains are running late and out of timetabled order" announcement was a regular occurrence. And worse still, the train was replaced by far-slower buses while they did "trackwork" nearly every weekend. What they were fixing, and why it required work for so many years, was never clearly explained. I don't live on the North Shore anymore, thankfully, so no longer depend on the caprices of CityRail. But a quick look at CityRail's website shows that they're still doing trackwork decades later. The private bus companies must have made millions out of this constant trackwork. Honestly, what are the rail workers doing on the weekends, playing an extended cricket series up and down the North Shore Line track? They surely could have re-layed the whole track two or three times by now. With such a consistently hopeless train system, you can almost forgive our upper North Shore compatriates from sticking to their beloved 4WDs. Especially now that BMW makes one.
And it's not just the Bridge. Virtually every line has trackwork scheduled at the moment. What on earth's the matter?
The NSW Government keeps apologising, and it's easy to blame our political leaders, but it's hard to imagine it's the fault of the current crop of politicians, given the decades of chaos we've experienced. The pressure on RailCorp from Macquarie St must be intense, given the regularity with which senior ministers have to cop egg on their faces. The problem must lie in its overall design.
Unless, of course, the system is cursed. My theory is that a hex may have been placed on CityRail by one of those old train announcers as they were carted off to redundancy, retirement or more likely the CityRail CEO's job. You know, the ones who used to gabble incomprehensively over the loudspeakers before the Olympics saw the arrival of computer-generated, clear announcements? It used to sound something like "Thetrayoplafowuhgotohoooby." If you pronounced underwater.
Although on seconds thoughts, it's unlikely the spirits would have understood the incantation either, especially if it had been delivered it over the PA. Nevertheless, experienced witchdoctors should be asked to look into it as a matter of urgency. They'd probably do a better job at maintenance as well.
John Safran could also be useful – after all, he lifted the curse on the Socceroos. And Guus Hiddink wouldn't hurt either.
But as bad as Sydney's rail system is, the national rail grid is even worse. Australia must be the only first-world country where it's faster to commute between the two largest cities by car than by train. And sure, few (if any) developed countries have smaller populations on larger land-masses, so it's difficult to invest much in rail infrastructure. But you'd think that at least one decent train line from Sydney to Melbourne might be possible. Even if it has to go via Canberra, so the Federal Government funds it.
I caught the train once, years ago, and it's a mistake I'm not likely to repeat. I remember a shocking night where the train vibrated constantly and lurched from side to side, making sleep impossible. And the decision to serve beer on board meant that half the passengers were blind drunk – probably a good way to deal with the experience, in hindsight – and every single bathroom was putrid.
With all the attention being paid to climate change, we need a major rethink on rail. Right now, anybody could be forgiven for declining to entrust their daily commute to CityRail, or choose the train to Melbourne over a cheap flight. But a reliable, more extensive rail system is surely the best long-term way of getting cars off our choked roads. Building new train lines, and upgrading the ones we have properly so they can support trains that move at faster than walking pace, must be a major national priority over the next decade. Whatever the cost.

Pot, pollies and hypocrisy

Politicians nowadays are constantly being asked whether they've used marijuana. Anyone who wants to enter politics needs a good answer to the question, and as baby boomers continue to take over our parliaments, the answers keep on becoming more interesting. The so-called baby boomer president, Bill Clinton, famously offered that "I didn't inhale" excuse, which formed the basis of many a late-night comedy routine, and provided a taste of the amusingly technical justifications to come as the president denied having "sexual relations" with Monica Lewinsky.

This week, it was a joke by Daniel Johns that set the pot among the pigeons. He made a quip on radio about lying on a bed with Bono and Peter Garrett, listening to the new Silverchair album and smoking a joint. Well, on this evidence, Daniel Johns really should stick to being an ultra-serious young rock-auteur, because jokes aren't this thing. I'd be surprised if Johns had come up with a single funny thing since he wrote the lyrics to Tomorrow.
The problem with the joke is that it's far too plausible. Johns was listening to his album with Bono and Garrett earlier in the year, it was only the joint part that was made up. Whereas if I made a joke about the time I was lying on a bed with Robert Manne and John Ralston Saul, discussing my smh.com.au blog while smoking crack, that would be implausible enough to be clearly a joke. (Although, Rob and John, if you're interested, let me know and we'll meet up. BYO crack pipe.)
The joke he was aiming at was based around Bono and Garrett being supposedly anti-drug, so of course one wouldn't share a spliff with them. But they're still rock stars. And, as we saw with the controversy over Madonna's involvement with Live Earth, celebrities aren't necessarily hypocrisy-free. Bono's an anti-poverty campaigner who's immensely wealthy, so really, who'd be shocked if be if enjoyed the occasional toke while regularly lecturing the UN on the evils of drugs?
Garrett's involvement, and subsequent denial, led to every other politician trotting out their own personal drug-use stories. And gee, who'd have thought that Kevin Rudd never would have indulged in marijuana? It's about as likely as him being seen in public with a hair out of place. The guy's level of self-control is genuinely terrifying, so I can't imagine Rudd consuming any substance that would lead to relaxation. Even though Rudd's obviously doing a much better job, I can't help but long for the amusing indiscipline of Mark Latham.
Being equally straight-laced, Howard doesn't use drugs, of course. But imagine my surprise when Nick Minchin confessed to having indulged in the odd spot of whacky baccy in his youth. I'm sorry, Nick Minchin? The ultra-conservative guy who doesn't believe in compulsory voting or global warming? This is honestly the first time I've heard anything vaguely humanising about the former Special Minister of State, a title that made him seem like the Canberra equivalent of Darth Vader. If even a guy like Minchin indulged a little in his youth, surely nearly all of our pollies must have.
Which got me wondering. In a decade's time, when an even younger generation of politicians has swept onto Capitol Hill, will there be any politicians left who didn't experiment with marijuana in their youths? (Well, with the exception of Alex Hawke.) And that really ought to beg a few questions. A criminal conviction is enough to disqualify you from parliament, so a situation where the majority of our lawmakers have broken a law is a serious situation - even if marijuana is decriminalised for personal use, it's still a big concern. But more to the point, if in their private lives, virtually everyone in parliament has chosen to disregard a certain law, shouldn't we reconsider whether that law ought to exist at all?
Sure, every pollie who admits to a little dope smoking is quick to reiterate that they wouldn't dream of it now, but I think that's a bit disingenuous. At the time, when they didn't have public perception to worry about, they obviously didn't think it was a problem, and surely beneath the layers of spin, that's still their position. The fact is that a little experimentation with marijuana is normal in our society, and we should stop being hysterical about it. For the most part, people try it, perhaps even use it regularly for a year or two, and then give it away and get on with their lives with no adverse effects.
Which is not to condone its use. Marijuana can have a terrible psychological impact on some people, and I'm aware of situations where it was linked to panic attacks and even schizophrenia. But we've also all seen alcohol destroy people's lives, and smoking's more destructive still. So I really don't understand why marijuana is in a different category. And when they made the decision to smoke at whatever university party it may have been, our politicians obviously felt the same way.
And that's why no one got Daniel Johns' joke. When three rock legends gather, even ones as strait-laced as Garrett and Bono, no-one would necessarily assume it would be a drug-free event. Sure, I might have doubted the story if Johns had said that he and Bono snorted lines of heroin off the top of Garrett's head, or something. But passing around a joint while lying around and listening to a rock album is a common occurrence in our society. So it will be fascinating to see whether our politicians are willing to back up in their public capacities the judgements they've obviously made in their private lives.

A column about Howard v Costello

Ford v Holden. NSW v Queensland. Big Brother v the Liberal Party. Howard v Costello has taken its place among them as one of the defining conflicts of our time. The only difference is that while Queensland, Holden and the family values lobby have substantial support, Peter Costello’s is a lonely crusade. Neither the public or the rest of his party want to see him dump John Howard from the top job. When he tries to “do the numbers” on a leadership challenge, I can’t imagine our longest-serving Treasurer ever gets to count much higher than one. Which is why he’s slunk back to his office, licking his wounds, instead of mounting any kind of leadership challenge. Still, given Kim Beazley’s insipid performance, at least someone’s serving as John Howard’s Opposition.

It was a desperate effort this week. Arguing that he should have been given the job because of a chat they had in 1994 – which Howard prefaced by saying “I can’t guarantee you anything” – is about as weak as it gets. It’s the equivalent of stamping your feet like a toddler demanding an ice-cream and insisting “But I want it, I want it.” All he accomplished was undermine the party, and with it, his own claims.

Besides, if the deal had been honoured and Howard had left after two terms, that would have meant abandoning the Lodge immediately after the 9/11 attacks. Even Costello probably wouldn’t have wanted to be thrown into the deep end when Australia was plunged into the war on terror. Howard never came closer than matching George Bush’s far-fetched description of him as the “Man of Steel” than he did at that moment. Since then, though, he has come to resemble Superman in several respects – he has certainly proven invulnerable, and he’s consistently fought for the American way, if not for truth and justice. His Deputy could use some Kryptonite about now.

It was ironic to see someone who’s worked alongside him for a decade expressing so much disappointment that John Howard broke a promise. He’s the man who invented the distinction between ‘core’ and ‘non-core’ promises – the latter being the things you said you’d do, but later reveal you hadn’t meant. Would a politician ever make a more non-core promise than one involving handing over power? And as for accusing him of fibbing about the meeting, let’s just remember that his nickname “Honest John” was originally bestowed on him ironically by Paul Keating.

Besides, Costello himself repeatedly denied that there was any deal. So his scomment that his parents had told him always to tell the truth sounds a little hollow.

The whole affair has been wonderfully entertaining, adding some interest to what’s become an extremely dull political landscape. The Coalition has been virtually indestructible for a decade, even through such disasters as the AWB scandal (and Alexander Downer being Foreign Minister in general) and the waterfront dispute, so all lovers of politics have gained enormous interest from watching the cracks beginning to appear. There hasn’t been as interesting a political story since Mark Latham self-destructed.

Costello is stranded in no-man’s land. He has to stay Treasurer, because he’s not popular enough to win from the backbench like Keating. So unless he can somehow convince the electorate that Howard’s past it and that there’s a pressing need for a changeover, he depends entirely on Howard’s whim – and his recent strategy of rattling about a boring issue like federalism isn’t going to win him any votes.

The harsh realisation that voters preferred John Howard left Paul Keating absolutely gutted, and it must be equally painful for Costello to have to deal with being consistently passed over for the PM. But that’s the political reality. So he may as well stop whinging, and join the rest of us in waiting for the day when George Bush’s deputy sheriff hangs up his cowboy boots.

A column about Live Earth

I still remember the global excitement over Live Aid when I was a child. It seemed like the entire world really was singing ‘We Are The World’, as for the first time, the reality of poverty and starvation in Africa hit home. Okay, so I was eight years old on 13 July 1985, and nothing is ever exciting nowadays as it was when I was a kid. Honestly, when I discover a new flavour of Paddle Pops or Kit Kats nowadays, I almost don’t even bother to buy them.

But we can see that large-scale charity concerts are subject to the law of diminishing returns even in ratings terms. Since that first massive, global concert that drew 1.5 billion viewers, there have been many other attempts to bring the planet together through the power of rock. Each one seems to be huger in scale than the last, but has less of an impact. Live 8 wasn’t a patch on Live Aid, and Al Gore’s enormous Live Earth event, with its astonishing eleven venues, has been a bit of a damp squib.

In ratings terms, Live Earth hardly set the planet on fire. In the UK, it got less than half the ratings of the Concert For Diana a week earlier. In the US, it was the worst rating show in its timeslot, garnering a mere 2.7 million primetime viewers. And in Australia, it was screened only on Foxtel. The event reached nothing like the “billions” Al Gore promised in his intro. Then again, he’s got a reputation for exaggerating.

It wasn’t a particularly well-conceived event, either. The Australian leg was rife with complaints of the logistics, not to mention the considerable irony in using enormous quantities of electricity to draw awareness to global warming. There have been controversies over some artists’ links with polluting companies, as well – Madonna in particular.

But most problematically, it’s difficult to argue that the event increased awareness of an issue that is already saturating the media. While Gore has obviously done remarkable things to put climate change in the spotlight, Live Earth does not rank as chief among them. If anything, the parade of celebrities serving up tokenistic slogans threatens to undermine the seriousness of the issue, making it seem like a fad for leftie do-gooders rather than a genuine crisis.

Which is why the genuine debate over the ABC’s climate change documentary should be so welcome, and its ratings of 1.1 million are very encouraging. The national broadcaster (for whom I also work, by way of a disclaimer) has been excoriated for screening Martin Durkin’s The Great Global Warming Swindle, and it’s entirely possible that there was improper political pressure for it to do so – we’ll probably never know.

But the way it ultimately chose to present the film, with a follow-up cross-examination of Durkin by Tony Jones and then a discussion by a panel of experts, showed the commitment to genuine debate that makes the ABC such a valuable institution. And if the outcome was inconclusive, and Durkin’s perspective not 100% discredited, then so much the better – Al Gore’s is not the only justifiable position in the debate. Far better for us to devote time to examining the science carefully than to listening to another irritating procession of millionaire rockstars lecturing us on how to spend our lives. Even though Durkin is probably wrong, it’s better to examine his arguments carefully than dismiss because we don’t like his politics.

However, enough scientists agree with Gore’s general thrust (if not every detail) to mandate action. And even if Durkin were right, it’s still sensible to control energy use and CO2 emissions on general principle. We can’t know in advance what the impact of so radically changing the atmosphere will be, so it’s wise for us to leave the lightest footfall possible on the planet. And the most common method of “offsetting” CO2, planting trees, is a worthwhile endeavour whether or not you believe every slide in An Inconvenient Truth.

I’d much rather the Gores of this world exaggerated the scale of the problem and spurred people into inherently worthwhile actions than have the Durkins encouraging people to sit with their heads in the sand. Or underwater, more likely, if the worst-case sea level projections are correct. And please, next time we need to convince the planet of something, let’s do it without the charity concerts. Sting gets put in front of more than enough microphones as it is.

A column about chain stores

In 1998, the Broadway Shopping Centre transformed an abandoned building into the retail mecca we know and love – or, more accurately, patronise because of a lack of alternatives – today. Local retailers were terrified that this retail Godzilla would trample on the village charm of Glebe Point Rd either by sending them broke, or destroying the atmosphere by encouraging chain stores to take over the main strip. Badde Manors, it was feared, might make way for Big Macs.

The new “category killer” stores like Kmart, Freedom and Harvey Norman, with large ranges at low prices, posed a huge challenge to local retailers. The Collins Booksellers megastore seemed particularly threatening to Glebe’s uniquely esoteric assortment of bookshops, and locals were especially worried for Gleebooks. To stay in business, even a shop that regularly wins Australian Bookstore of the Year has to peddle large quantities of The Da Vinci Code.

Collins was a 1231 square-metre bookselling behemoth, whose bizarre redundant entrance hall alone could have swallowed most of Gleebooks’ floorspace. Plus it had a café, and an ABC shop to augment its enormous range. Sure, Collins didn’t have quite the same volume of material dealing with the finer nuances of the Hegelian dialectical approach, but that just seemed all the more reason why Gleebooks would be the one to go.

In April, though, Collins was declared bankrupt. Score one to David – although the victory probably belongs just as much to Borders, a bigger Goliath that out-megastored the megastore. A new Dymocks has recently opened in Collins’ place, and with more experience in the Sydney market, they’ll probably do better. Besides, they must have gotten a great deal on the rent.

Even up against Dymocks, though, Gleebooks should continue as strongly as ever thanks to one of the Inner West’s most endearing characteristics. Stores in Balmain, Leichhardt, Glebe and Newtown are generally one-off neighbourhood-style operations because the locals hate chain stores like they hate a badly-made latte.

In particular, they hate the globally ubiquitous Starbucks, where those two things so often go together. The only outlet in the area is in Balmain, and that opened to many protests. As for the rest of the area, I guess their market research found that places that are famous for offering the actual café experience would not welcome a pale imitation, and especially one that insists on charging a premium for its caffeinated dishwater.

When other chain stores have tried to expand here, they’ve learned that local residents often vote with their wallets. Closures of McDonalds’ outlets are as rare as healthy products on their menu were before Super Size Me, but the one in King St Newtown shut many years ago. The students of Sydney Uni also succeeded in fending off a Burger King a few years ago – at their new sport and recreation centre, cheekily enough.

But the chain-store failure that gave me most satisfaction was Glebe Point Rd’s first American fast food outlet, Baskin-Robbins. It just seemed so very wrong when they opened opposite Well Connected a few years ago, but they lasted all of a few months before their hideously bright pink neon lights were turned off for good. It’s a discerning area that can’t sustain a Baskin-Robbins but seems to have an unlimited appetite for North Indian Diners.

There have been a lot of changes in Glebe since Broadway opened, and some businesses have found things tougher. But for the most part, the two very different shopping areas have had a surprisingly comfortable co-existence. It’s been heartening to see in an era of retail consolidation, when the same boring brands are increasingly seen all over the country. And as much as some local residents still worry about the way things are changing, nearly everyone’s benefited from the convenience of Broadway. It’s given us a great place to park when we visit Glebe Point Rd.

An inconvenient spliff

I'm not usually all that sympathetic towards the privileged scions of political dynasties when they get into trouble, but I do feel sorry for Al Gore III in the light of his arrest with marijuana and a heady cocktail of prescription drugs. It must be pretty tough growing up with that legacy to contend with. No pressure, Al III, but Al Gore I and II were both Senators, and the latter was the rightful President and is now viewed by the neo-environmental movement with quasi-religious fervour. That's a big name to live up to.

His father responded with his usual class, saying that it was a private matter, and that his family loved their son very much. Ouch. Couldn't the big guy at least have gotten angry, say that his son had disgraced the family or something? No, he just responded with that same saint-like demeanour that made the scenes of Gore presiding over the Senate as it confirmed his defeat in the 2000 Election that much more painful. How badly must Gore Jr Jr feel he's let the family down today?
Fortunately, these kinds of youthful shenanigans are no bar to the highest office in the land, as his father painfully discovered. Gore may yet live to make his father proud, because these juvenile drug binges could prove the missing ingredient that might propel Gore III to the Presidency. America loves nothing more than a story of a reprobate made good. All he needs is to be converted by Billy Graham's son in a decade or so, go and have a cry on Oprah, and it's next stop, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
After all, it worked a treat for W. And even that election eve revelation about Bush drink-driving as a young man after an evening downing beers with John Newcombe didn't derail his campaign. I think the average response, at least in Australia, was to be impressed that he hung out with Newk.
As a young man, Gore II was the opposite of this – and his own son, for that matter. As An Inconvenient Truth would have us believe, he was already earnestly learning of the dangers of global warming and beginning to prepare the most famous slide show of our time. In other words, he was preparing earnestly for life as a public servant. A serious man of weighty issues. (No, I'm not talking about the issue of whether his weight loss means he's running for President.) A man who would go on to write a substantial quasi-academic tomes about the state of the American polity, even though he's definitely not running. (Well, probably not now, actually.) A man who is nicknamed The Goracle. That's not the kind of man Americans want as their President. They'd rather have someone who's famous for mangling English than wielding it skilfully. They don't want a leader who makes them feel guilty about their affluent lifestyles, they want leader who makes them feel smarter than he is. Gore II was not their man.
But Gore III could be. Sure, there are some bad signs already – he was busted driving a Prius, for goodness' sakes. (Actually, literally for goodness' sake.) No sex appeal in that. No all-American boy ever got hisself laid in a Prius. Worse still, he had in his car a book called Homeowner's Guide to Renewable Energy. But there's still time for him to get that bad boy image up and running. Especially if he serves time.
It must be awful being the son of a sitting President or public figure. Sure, there are massive perks – you're never going to want for money, for one thing – but the scrutiny is intense. You live your entire life in the shadow of your famous parent. You can't be sure whether your friends actually like you, or just value the connection. It's no wonder that so many of these kids get into trouble, like George W's own twin daughters and Prince Harry. Even our own Tim Howard and Patrick Keating have had run-ins with the law, for a minor drink-driving incident and assault respectively. But perhaps the worst case is Mark Thatcher, who got busted not for common or garden drinking or drugs, but interfering in the politics of Equatorial Guinea. Now that's going off the rails.
(A friend drew my attention to an even more unfortunate case today – Count Gottfried von Bismarck, as detailed in this unsympathetic obituary. How much would it do your head even more in if your great-great-granddad was an infamously tough Chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire, and your dad owned a castle?)
I really hope Al Gore III doesn't go to prison, because like so many of these youths, he sounds troubled, rather than criminal. I just hope he can put his life in order. And if he does have a son one day, perhaps he might do him the favour of naming him something other than Al Gore IV?

Scooter Libby's unforgivable pardon

Justice is a highly variable quantity under President George W. Bush. If you're on death row, you can forget about asking for clemency – he has been extremely reluctant to interfere to protect even mentally retarded offenders. If you're in Guantanamo Bay, facing a trial process that the Supreme Court previously overturned and which the US refused to apply to its own citizens, then tough. But if you're a buddy of the President's, and get caught lying to protect your boss and Dick Cheney, then suddenly the tough guy who oversaw 152 executions in Texas – a modern record for a State Governor – is all heart.

The very idea that a political leader could interfere to protect a buddy seems astonishing in Australia, but it's very much part of the English tradition. (The Queen recently posthumously
pardoned all British soldiers who'd been executed for cowardice in World War I, for example.) And the "royal pardon" arose for sound reasons, because it is commonly recognised that the strict application of any justice system can, on occasion, produce unjust results. And yes, sometimes sentences are too harsh, and
sometimes it seems right, after a period of time, that a criminal be deemed to have paid their debt to society and be released. (For instance, there's this guy called David Hicks...) It's unlikely, though, that when the legendary founding fathers who drafted the US Constitution and, in their boundless wisdom, decided to preserve this noble mechanism for clemency, they intended for George W. Bush to let off a buddy who'd gotten busted doing his dirty work.

Rather, George Bush's decision to pardon the jail sentence of his colleague Scooter Libby revives an alternative element of the pardon tradition – the dodgy reprieve given to royal buddies. (And the Bush dynasty does bear some resemblance to a hereditary monarchy these days.) Because of a history of abuse, some anti-federalists opposed the inclusion of the pardon power in Section 2 of the Constitution, but it was ultimately successfully defended by
Alexander Hamilton.

Looking at how the pardon has been used by Presidents can't help but make you sympathetic to the critics' perspective. Bill Clinton's controversial pardon of Marc Rich, a fugitive whose ex-wife had donated large amounts to the Democratic Party, was slammed in many quarters. (In an astonishing coincidence, Rich's attorney for over a decade was none other than Scooter Libby.) And Gerald Ford's decision to pardon his former boss, Richard Nixon, over Watergate has attracted criticism ever since because cynics presumed that Nixon was pardoned in
return for resigning the Presidency for Ford.

Lewis "Scooter" Libby was convicted for perjury, obstruction of justice and making false statements to federal investigators. He tried to frustrate the investigation into who had smeared Valerie Plame, the CIA agent whose husband had criticised the Bush Administration over Iraq. Libby was the Chief of Staff of Vice-President Dick Cheney, and a counsel to the President. And that's what makes his pardon so galling. No judge or juror is allowed to hear a trial if they have a personal connection to the accused. Even the slightest intimation of bias on the past of former Justice Lionel Murphy was enough to end his judicial career. So really, how, after an exhaustive, independent process determines that a party is guilty, and an appeal that fails, can a President be allow to intervene because he doesn't want his buddy to go to jail? It's an abhorrent result, especially in a nation that is only too happy to lecture other nations about their judicial processes.

The US needs to change its pardon law so that the President cannot pardon anyone where there is a clear personal connection. Those cases should be rerouted to an independent body. Whether or not Nixon, Rich and Libby deserved pardons is too exhaustive an issue to go into any further, but even if they did, the Presidents who signed them were clearly in no position to independently assess that decision.

As one critic has pointed out, Madison himself – the chief defender of the pardon power – recommended impeachment for Presidents who pardon those who commit crimes in their service. But it's hardly surprising that Bush signed this pardon, though, and not just because we have become accustomed to expect sickening acts of cronyism from this President. The major check on a President's political decisions is public opinion, and that's already long gone in the final stages of a lame-duck Presidency. At this point, Bush has little to lose..
I'm glad that George Bush is a loyal friend, even if only for John Howard's sake, but too often this has led him into serious errors. The choice of his personal lawyer, Harriet Miers, for a Supreme Court vacancy was appalling enough, and his old Texan buddy Alberto Gonzales' time as Attorney-General has been a disaster. That Bush simply overturn a 30 month jail sentence, though, is simply indefensible. If a President can pardon anyone who breaks the law to protect him, an administration cannot be called to account except by the lengthy and partisan process of impeachment. Unfortunately, the admirable override system that is supposed to prevent unjust outcomes has itself created one.

Photo: AP

A column about Prince William

The doubts over Prince Harry’s paternity have persisted, given that flame-red shock of hair that’s embarrassingly reminiscent of James Hewitt’s, but Prince William sure seems to be a chip off the old block. And I’m not just referring to his simpering chin and unfortunately premature baldness. According to recent news reports, he’s tried to repeat his father’s attempts to become Governor-General, which were so sensibly rebuffed by the Hawke Government in the 1980s. Which shows, if nothing else, that Prince Phillip’s aristocratic gaffe genes are expressing themselves in the third generation.

Sure, I can see the appeal from the princes’ perspective. If I had to grow up with the hounding of the British press, the restrictions imposed by a control freak queen and her out-of-touch consort, and worst of all, that weather, I’d have loved to head south to do a cushy stint in Yarralumla as well. In fact, if I were made king – and my lineage is English, so I’m probably legitimately 32,654,823nd in line to the throne – I’d permanently relocate Buckingham Palace to Australia. Not only would it kill the most potent republican argument, but my British subjects’ enthusiasm would remain undiminished – they’d follow my mundane Antipodean exploits just as avidly as they devour Neighbours and Home & Away.

But what an utterly misguided request to make. Charles was apparently offended by being turned down. One had offered to help, and one had had one’s offer thrown back in one’s face by that uncouth Australian prime minister. How wonderfully monarchical of him merely to assume that anyone would be happy to have a snotty-nosed toff turning up to open our flower shows. Well okay, so we generally get that anyway, given the kind of people who’re tapped for Governor-General – Peter Hollingworth, certainly. But a snotty-nosed English toff, though, would be too much to bear.

Wills, however, can almost be forgiven for reviving the idea, because our nation cast a vote eight years ago that emphatically endorsed governance by snotty-nosed English toffs. Why shouldn’t one come and do the job directly, instead of appointing a local subordinate to do it? From one perspective, it’s an admirable piece of personal service by an institution that doesn’t usually bother to leave its extensive collection of palaces for more than a few days at a time.

And thus we have the strange contradiction that emerges when John Howard steps forward to gently decline Wills’ offer. "Although I remain a supporter of our current constitutional arrangements, I do think the practice of having a person who is an Australian in every way and a long-term and permanent resident of this country is a practice I would not like to see altered," he said. We like one of our own filling in for the gig, and shudder when the Crown itself offers to fulfil its constitutional role because it seems grossly inappropriate. But then we wouldn’t dream of giving an Aussie the role permanently. It really is a twisted piece of reasoning.

When John Howard has finally left the stage, there will doubtlessly be another referendum. All of his likely Liberal replacements are Republicans, and that will give us a bipartisan consensus that should enable us to avoid having our referendum hijacked by scaremongering over the model. The sheer inappropriateness of Prince William becoming Governor-General, though, should give all monarchists serious pause for thought. If we won’t let him do his job in person, because we want someone who has contributed to our society in the gig, what are we so afraid of when it comes to making the existing de facto arrangement permanent?

A column about euthanasia

You can't keep Dr Phillip Nitschke down, can you? Somewhat ironically for a euthanasia advocate, he never seems to give up. Every few months he bounces back in the headlines with a new angle on assisted suicide. He was heavily involved in the NT’s brief period of legal euthanasia, he’s constructed made a “suicide machine” And recently, a court banned his book on “peaceful pills” – a macabre euphemism if ever I’ve heard one – which contained easy household recipes for topping yourself in the comfort of your own kitchen. Mmm, now that’s peaceful.

It was banned not because of the euthanasia aspect, but because of fears that those helpful everyday recipes would have made it easier to commit murder. Which I think does a great disservice to the creativity of our nation’s murdering community. How hard is it to dream up the idea of mixing bleach and Drano?

(Note that the previously supplied recipe has not been tested and may not result in death. If it does, though, neither this newspaper or I will be liable for any “peace” that may result.)

But Nitschke’s latest effort has reached a new level of controversy, and poses an interesting moral conundrum. He's been arguing that Martin Bryant, who killed 35 people at Port Arthur, should be given a chance to kill himself in prison. Nitschke says the state is not interested in rehabilitating him, and that it’s cruel to essentially leave him to rot in jail. I don’t imagine that even the most passionate prison reform advocate would try and argue that Bryant should be prepared for a release into the community, so perhaps Nitschke has a point? Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Bryant were given – not the death penalty, but the death option?

He might well take it. Bryant has tried to kill himself five times, though it’s unclear how serious the efforts were. On one occasion, he swallowed a tube of toothpaste – which may not be a suicide attempt at all, but merely a case of reading the instructions very, very badly. Each time, he has been foiled.

I’ve been thinking about Martin Bryant since the Virginia Tech killing earlier in the year. I was astonished that no massacres on the Port Arthur scale had ever happened in the USA, and ended up re-reading an account of that horrific day. Even all these years later, the sheer brutality of Bryant is utterly shocking. It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that it might have been better for everyone if Bryant’s last victim had been himself, as was the case in Virginia. And I imagine it could be making it that much harder for the victims’ families to know that he is still alive.

There were calls for his execution at the time of his trial. But like most Australians, I have always believed that the death penalty is inhumane, and should simply not be on the table, even in the most extreme of cases. I didn’t support it for Saddam Hussein, and I don’t support it for Martin Bryant either. And Nitschke’s argument that society should give him the option to kill himself is somehow humane seems perverse. I can understand the argument that terminally ill people in enormous pain should be allowed to end it, but Bryant’s pain is existential. It’s the inevitable result of his own actions, and if he spends the next fifty years stuck in jail reflecting on it, and perhaps even one day regretting it, then so much the better.

Suicide has been an all-too-common theme in Australian prisons. And in the light of our problem with black deaths in custody, the need to stand firm against all varieties of prison death is all the greater. Prison demonstrably causes mental illness, and anyone choosing suicide in prison cannot be assumed to be truly free in their choice.

The decision to keep Bryant alive shows that we as a nation value life in all circumstances. It makes a powerful and worthwhile statement about our values, and our humanity. Because the humane approach is one that always values life. Yes, even one as sordid and destructive as Martin Bryant’s.

Free Tibet, and while you're at it, free Bindi too

What on earth was the Dalai Lama doing at Australia Zoo today? Okay, that was a rhetorical question, I know the answer. He was talking about kindness to animals and the environment. At... the Crocoseum. But what he was also doing was throwing another log on the blaze that is the media spotlight on Bindi Irwin, the Crocodile Heiress. She had to pose for pics with the big guy and sit patiently during what was in all probability a lengthy and complex lecture on Buddhist philosophy. At which point I started wondering whether His Holiness should have added Bindi to his "things to be kind to" list as well.

There's been endless politicking over His Holiness will meet with on the course of his travels around Australia, but no matter how long the list is, or how many Prime Ministers find that their diary has spectacularly cleared right after their political opponent meets with the Dalai Lama, surely he could have found more meaningful company than little Bindi. And surely he, with his centuries-old wisdom, would have thought better of giving yet another fillip to the Irwins' attempts to keep the juggernaut alive through the medium of an 8-year-old girl? For all the talk of how unique Steve was – and he was a remarkable entertainer – they sure are doing their darnedest to prove he isn't irreplaceable.
It's necessary, I guess, when you have a massive business to promote and your greatest asset is no longer with you. But I'm not alone in finding the attempts at continuity a little freaky – as we saw in the piece on Bindi's new series Jungle Girl in Stay In Touch earlier this week.
I found wandering around the Australia Zoo website a bit disconcerting as well – in particular the way they write Bindi's name as though it were a lipstick logo. It's the same on her DVD, on the podium from which she launched her show, and most disconcertingly, on the page advertising her big ninth birthday bash. Look, there she is with the Veronicas! Kids get in for free accompanied by adults. But what's strangest is the awful photo of her with extended arms. Forget appearing in a TV show that seamlessly integrates your late father as if he were still alive – this photo is truly freaky.
And is it just me, or is their big Father's Day event, advertised with a photo of Steve and the kids, just too tragic for words?
I particularly liked the comment that SIT reproduced from the New York Times, that Bindi is "affecting childhood rather than experiencing it". And I've had that bizarre sensation whenever I've seen her appear in public – at the Logies and at Steve's funeral. It's like she's too slick, too perfectly coached. Check out the interview on Letterman. Bindi seems like she's rehearsed most of her responses, right down to the hand gestures. And note the logo on her t-shirt, of course. Branding's ever so important when you're trying to launch a product.
So I found it a little incongruous to see the highly-respected Dalai Lama entering the Irwin maelstrom of slick publicity. But then I realised that he's not that different, really. Sure, a life spent studying Buddhism is a little different from learning how to jump on crocodiles. But both the Dalai Lama and the Irwins support worthy causes, are larger than life,and they have turned their own images into powerful publicity machines to try and reach the mainstream.
Also, the Dalai Lama didn't get much of a choice about whether he wanted to spend his life being the reincarnated spiritual leader of Tibet, and one imagines Bindi hasn't exactly had a chance to work out whether she wants a normal life either.
Nor is His Holiness averse to tacky celebrity crossovers, either. I could scarcely believe it, but the Dalai's free concert in the Botanic Gardens is being MCed by Andrew G. I can only hope that G shaves his head for the occasion.
The Tibet lobby have given up on seeking independence from the PRC. What they seek now is autonomy – the chance to have control over much of their own destinies. It's a struggle Bindi might find herself having in the years to come as well. No-one can fault their efforts at conserving wildlife (well, no-one except Germaine Greer, anyway.) I only hope Bindi doesn't live to resent this attempt at conserving her family's media profile as well.
Photo: AP

It's Stacks On Catholics Day

Everyone's fighting with Catholics in the news today. Most of Australia's Catholic politicians are angrily attacking George Pell's threat of "consequences" if they supported stem cell research, noted ethicist Gisele Bundchen is getting stuck into the Brazilian Catholic Church, and a strange man is clambering into the back of the Papal jeep. So I may as well jump on the bandwagon, if not the actual Popemobile itself.

George Pell's suggestion he may move to in some way exclude Catholic politicians who vote for stem cell legislation, or maintain the legality of abortions, is nothing short of reprehensible. It is fundamentally undemocratic for elected representatives to make judgements of this nature on the basis of their individual religious beliefs, rather than the position of the voters that elected them and the broader society that they represent.
I don't have a problem with political parties whose platform is based around explicit Christian positions, like the Christian Democrats. Well, actually, I do have a problem with them. But at least they're being upfront about what they want to do. But with Tony Abbott as Health Minister, we had national policy on RU486 being determined on the basis of his anti-abortion beliefs, and that was utterly inappropriate.
Politics is generally not about moral absolutes. It's about striking an appropriate balance between competing interests. With respect to stem cells, you have a division between people who think it's a form of murder, and the need for medical research that may alleviate terrible suffering. That strikes me as an extremely simple equation to balance. George Pell is welcome to dislike the practice, and speak against it from the pulpit, and suggest that members of his flock not personally become involved in the practice, but that is the limit of his rightful influence. But the very idea that he should have the right to prevent people from worshipping because they have followed their oath to serve the community as best they can is a medieval attitude.
George Pell has no special divine insight, and I think this is what most irritates me about the way that the Catholic Church approaches these issues. It's never about debate, and always about taking dictation. Pell is, no doubt, a formidable Biblical scholar. But trying to work out what Jesus would have thought about 21st century medical technology is surely largely guesswork. He spent most of his life railing against simplistic religious dogma that prevented the sick from being healed, so perhaps this might be a better example for Cardinal Pell to follow? But no. Instead the George Pells of the world try to bludgeon their followers into doing what they say. Earlier in the week he tried to get all the leaders in the Catholic school system to pledge to follow the Church's teachings, and now he's threatening to punish our political leaders as well. Is there a commandment that said "Thou shalt not bully"?
Seriously, if George Pell can turn water into wine (or wine into water might be more useful at this time, actually), I'm happy to take his opinions as representative of the will of God. But until that time, he's just a man, and an unpleasant one at that. Priests have a lot to contribute to current affairs – look at Frank Brennan, for instance – but their role should be to teach, and to try and convince, not to bludgeon. And they would do well to remember that they have no authority over those of us who don't attend their church – or even, really, those who do.
I do draw the line, though, at likening the Cardinal to "serial boofhead" Sheik Hilaly, as Nathan Rees did in Parliament yesterday. Not only is the Sheik considerably more entertaining, but I don't see George Pell appearing in Chaser sketches alongside Anthony Mundine.
Gisele Bundchen – who I have always admired, though not generally for her statements on matters of morality – was right to heap ridicule on the church's efforts to suppress condom use. George Pell's opposition to stem cell research and abortion is based on the worthy idea that killing is wrong. But opposing condoms in AIDS-riven societies is effectively killing people as well. Even the most uncontroversial moral absolute has its grey areas and opportunities for hypocrisy. I've always been particularly irritated, for instance, by the way American pro-life politicians who refuse to acknowledge the complexities of the abortion debate are generally all too happy to apply the death penalty.
Hypothetically speaking, if the entire population of Africa were to die out because of the AIDS virus (with the exception of Catholic Priests, of course, who never have sex) should we expect the last Catholic alive to virtuously cross himself as he lies on his deathbed as some manner of sarcoma consumes him, and say "At least nobody used a condom"?
All that the Cardinal is doing is encouraging Catholic politicians to ignore him, and encouraging voters not to support Catholic politicians. If he wants to live in a state that's run according to his church's principles, I would strongly encourage him to move to the Vatican City. (They have excellent security there, apparently.) There's a reason why there's a division between church and state in this country, and George Pell is it.

Australia's Next Reality TV Offcasts

What a shame Australia's Next Top Model is drawing to a close today. And with it, the brief period in the spotlight for the contestants, who will now fade back into the obscurity whence the came. All, that is, except Alice, who will surely win the live final tonight. Despite being painfully shy and having a signature look that involves staring vacantly into space with her mouth hanging open, she's the only genuinely modellish-looking one in the group. And that includes Jodhi Meares.

Not that looking modellish is necessarily something to aspire to, of course. Meares bursts with health onscreen, which is why she never really became known for her catwalk work. The current 'look' seems to require you to look like the unfortunate byproduct of an alien impregnation. Gemma Ward has a lot to answer for. So whereas in everyday life, Alice finds her long limbs quite a chore – and the scenes of her hugging her more petite mother were hilariously awkward – she just looks great on the catwalk.
It was ironic watching both Steph and Jordan tear strips off her last week because they reckoned she hadn't worked as hard as them, and is just naturally more model-looking. How ridiculous. Since when did the modelling industry ever give a rats about effort instead of looks? Modelling is one of those things in life that's just unfair, like being born into the Packer family. In fact, modelling generally leads to joining the Packer family in this country, at least temporarily. And the best of luck to you, James and Erica.
No-one in the industry actually works hard, let's be honest. Steph, Jordan and the rest of them have had their 15 minutes of fame already, and some of them will probably get more modelling work. Jordy put together quite the natty deodorant ad, and who knows, maybe she'll get a gig advertising air freshener and toilet ducks as well?
Alice is up against Steph in the grand finale tonight, and I was amused to see this website juxtaposing a profile of her with the "youth gone wild" story about the Central Coast, where she grew up. Erina Fair or no Erina Fair (and I've been there, and it ain't exactly Compton) I think it'd be fair to say that there isn't much that's wild about young Steph. Likeable, sure, when not whinging about Alice. And she's been wonderfully entertaining, inquiring about whether Chile was a country or that hot stuff you put on food, and insisting that she's not dumb. "I know about Moroccan food and that Moroccan food exists," she protested. "I just didn't know that it came from a country called Morocca." I hope she wins, or at least gets cast in Zoolander II. The modelling industry would be much the poorer without her talents.
(There's even more priceless Steph magic on the blog. I know it seems elitist to laugh at someone because they don't know the difference between the Airport Link station and the actual airport, but shucks, I just did.)
Top Model was strangely addictive, and I'll miss it. Thank God Tyra's mob are back next week. But despite the heated competition, it's clear who the real winner of Australia's Next Top Model is. And that is a gentleman by the name of Jonathan Pease. With his boundless energy and even more boundless wardrobe, not to mention that ridiculous side-swept hairstyle, Pease was the true star of ANTM 3. It's no surprise that it won him his own show, Confidential. I hope he still has the same haircut when he's seventy. And I'll be checking. Armed with oh-so-witty publicity stunts up his sleeve like giving his own clothes out to homeless people, the sky's clearly the limit for the Peasemeister.
At least compared to the contestants, poor things. And thanks, girls, it's been surprisingly entertaining for a straight-to-cable show. I hope I one day run into you at my local supermarket. If not on the cover of a fashion magazine, then at least behind the counter.

Garrett recession? Try a Howard drought

The Coalition would not be at all happy with the headline on the front cover of today's SMH. Yesterday was the showpiece Prime Ministerial address at the Federal Liberal Council, where John Howard had his chance to lay out the ideas everyone hoped would catapult him to a remarkable fifth election win. He seeded some slogans we'll probably see a lot more of before election day, and, crucially, unveiled a new climate change-based scare campaign designed to turn around the perception that Labor is the party that's hip to global warming. And what did the Herald report this morning? "Voters dread Costello switch."

Yep, that old leadership genie is out of the bottle again. The genie that the ALP tried to unleash last time around with posters of Costello on election day, but which failed as voters decided they preferred the prospect of the Treasurer to Mark Latham. But Kevin Rudd's no Latham, at least in the eyes of the electorate. (Although there are still those who miss the swashbuckling Latham days.) And the prospect of Costello might still prove to be electoral poison when we go to the polls.
The story was based on "internal Labor Party polling, obtained by the Herald." Oh really? And how, one wonders, did such a damaging story fall into the hands of this newspaper at the precise time when the Coalition were looking for favourable media coverage? Bit of a coincidence, wouldn't you say? I've no idea what the source was, but the timing made me hark back to an Alan Ramsey column dating all the way back to, oh, Saturday, when he revealed how John Faulkner's office had leaked the "lying rodent" story to Laurie Oakes. As he put it, the story "knocked Howard's start to the campaign right off balance." A touch of deja vu, perhaps?
Not entirely. Because other dynamics in this campaign couldn't be more different. Rudd is no Latham, as I said before, but also, it increasingly seems that Howard 2007 isn't a patch on Howard 2004. Last time, Latham was the economic bogeyman, a pitch which proved devastatingly effective. But, just as Peter Debnam's ads passed over Iemma and tried to scare people about Tripodi, Sartor and Costa, John Howard has given up on Kevin Rudd and tried to paint Peter Garrett as the man who can't be trusted with the economy. He talked about a "Garrett recession", and pointed to the shadow environment minister's one-time comments about taking all cars off the road and shutting down the coal-fired power stations by 2020. Just as he pleaded to the Australian public to leave him in charge of their interest rates last time, he's now portraying himself as the man who can defend our economy from rabid Greenies.
Boy, he wasn't lying when he said he didn't have a rabbit to pull out of his hat. Talk about a drought – I can't remember, in all John Howard's time in office, a less convincing attempt at scaremongering. Does anyone, in all honesty, believe that Peter Garrett will take the cars off the road? Does anyone actually believe he will even have the capacity, let alone the inclination, to plunge the nation into a recession?
Unlike Latham, he isn't the leader. He isn't the man we're thinking about electing – or who, by contrast with the unpopular Costello, might take over. If the best the Prime Minister can do at his showpiece Federal Council is try and dust up a relatively junior shadow minister, who's seen by much of the nation as a great bloke, then he might as well hang up his Akubra and head up to Hawk's Nest now.
And this shows how much the political agenda has changed in the past year. At the moment, Howard is fighting the election on climate change. In a Karl Rove-style manoeuvre, he's trying to take the ALP on where it's strongest, as the party that is clearly more in touch with the sudden popular concern about climate change. But to do the Rove manoeuvre relies on an effective smear campaign, like the Swift Boat veterans or the whispers about John McCain's sexual history. If you can't land a blow on your opponent – not an underling like Garrett – the tactic can backfire massively.
Peter Hartcher's response today quickly dispatched the Howard argument to the boundary, so I won't dive into the detail again. What fascinates me about this situation is just how out of touch these comments make Prime Minister seem. His famous antennae, that saw him pick exactly the right theme to align himself with the values of the voters he needed on four previous occasions, seem to be faltering.
Primarily, it's a problem of incumbency. After so many years of inaction on climate change, after ridiculing Labor's pro-Kyoto stance for most of the past decade, it's almost impossible to turn around and paint yourself as serious on climate change. George Bush hasn't been able to do it, and nor can John Howard. And Kevin Rudd has the advantage of being a new broom, who just sounds like he gets it.
If we really are moving into a period where climate change dominates politics for much of the next decade – and it'd be brave to predict that the current level of interest is a flash in the pan, at a time when even Rupert Murdoch is on the bandwagon – the man the Coalition needs up front is not John Howard or Peter Costello, but Malcolm Turnbull. He's associated himself with this crusade for years, even when no-one else in the Government seemed interested. He's younger, he's clever, and he seems to be committed enough to the environment to take the problem seriously. Coupled to which, he has enormous economic credibility because of his own success. And that's John Howard's biggest problem on this issue. Whereas he seemed utterly sincere when he vowed to protect us from unwanted arrivals, it just doesn't seem like he actually cares about climate change. It seems like he's trying to pretend to win an election, and it isn't convincing anyone.
The concept of a Garrett recession just isn't going to wash with an electorate that's increasingly worried about global warming. Right now, the thing that's scaring us in not John Howard's doomsday scenario, but Al Gore's.