If you love Australia, climate change should scare the hell out of you

I love Australia.

Australia is a nation on the extremities, where climate change
 will affect and strip away what we love much sooner than
will occur in Europe and North America.’

It’s not a thing you hear too often from progressives. Mostly this is because we don’t go in for the pathetic jingo-nationalist, quasi-militaristic “love it or leave it”-style patriotism that John Howard attempted to link with a love of country.

But I do love Australia. I get an absurd amount of irrational pride when I hear of Australians doing well.

When I read stories that Indigenous rock art might be among the oldest in the world I get excited and think, yeah suck it, caves of Cantabria!

I can still remember where I was when John Aloisi scored the winning penalty against Uruguay (jumping up in my home in Cairns and cutting my hand on the overhead fan), and like all sensible Australians I let out a deep groan whenever I hear someone start yet again an “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” chant at the tennis.

Read the story from The Guardian by Greg Jericho - “If you love Australia, climate change should scare the hell out of you.” 

Wondering about the difference between a nice person and a good person

Have you ever wondered about the difference between a nice person and a good person?

It’s not something I had thought about much, well, not at all really, until my son said he considered himself a “nice person”, while his sister, he said, was a “good person”.

A nice person, he argues, is someone who never upsets another, lives a quiet life, is agreeable in every sense, avoids any sort of confrontation - verbal or physical, is polite, courteous and never refuses a request for assistance, but of course help is never offered until the request is made.

Associate Professor Anitra Nelson.

His sister, according to him, is a good person and while she has all those “nice” attributes, she never avoids a verbal confrontation and without hesitation calls out anyone whose behaviour, verbal or otherwise offends personal or societal mores.

My son, I like to think is a reflection of myself as I have always considering myself a “nice person”, a claim, I’m sure, many would question, doubt or even laugh about.

Whatever, I’ve always seen my life though the prism of “nice”, but sadly events have forced a serious rethink as nearly 15 years of listening and reading have left me with no option to reconsider how I respond to the musings of others.

The damage you and I have done to Earth’s atmosphere is clearly evident and anyone who doesn’t respond by helping mitigate our carbon dioxide emissions or help us better understand and employ adaptive ideas, needs to be called out as by implication they stand with those who deny the reality of the climate crisis.

A nice person would “roll with the punches” and good person would demand better, and so say.

Of course there is another option; an option suggested by former New South Wales fire commissioner, Greg Mullins, who’s said that when people doubt and question the connection between climate change and Australian bush fire crisis, we should just smile politely and walk away.

Sound and “nice” advice, but for me “walking away” is over.

This is going to be tough as to confront another and question their values and ethics is contrary to my nature and in keeping with youthful climate activist, Greta Thunberg, I rely on the facts and trust the people will see the error in their thinking, and behaviours, and change their ways.

That doesn’t work, facts don’t change minds, but as Scott Morrison illustrated in the last year’s federal election victory, emotion and stories based on fanciful information structured around fear of the other, and baseless numbers seem to comfort people and carry the day.

To further complicate matters, while able to understand the broad concept of climate change, I struggle to regurgitate the facts and so argue my position.

The facts, it seems to me, are so clear, so damning and so obvious that simply presentation of them should be evidence enough.

The recent bushfires that swept through parts of Australia are little more than a taste of what is ahead - the world has warmed by just over one degree Celsius and the Paris agreement, which is championed repeatedly by many, including our PM, and has programmed the world for an increase of about 3.5 degrees Celsius.

The root of our troubles is the prevailing economic system, commonly known as “neoliberalism” that promotes and encourages individualism, an idea that puts the success of one ahead of the many.

With that system comes privatisation and the steady erosion  of the public sphere and what Canadian author Naomi Klein describes in her appropriately named latest book,”On Fire”, as the “gig and dig” economy where jobs are not jobs, but precarious “gigs’ and the ‘digging’ up of fossil resources.

And contrary to what former Nationals leader, Barnaby Joyce, argues, we need more government in our lives for a thorough and honest examination of what make this modern life possible illustrates it all began through the government, that is public, intervention.

Thinking of what exists reminds me of the American Indian adage: “If you want to go fast, go alone, if you want to go far, go together”.

So, fundamentally, if we want to navigate this dilemma we need to invest heavily in the public sphere, redistribute wealth (an anathema to many), stop the wholesale privatisation of our lives, understand that our status is not attached to our acquisitions, and as RMIT associate professor, Anitra Nelson, points out, we all need to learn how to share.

Others, of far greater importance than I, have also stepped aside from nice and and taken up the”good” baton and one of the those is Nobel laureate, Professor Peter Doherty.

Professor Doherty, who spoke in Shepparton last year, said in a tweet: ”Get mad not sad! Be mad as hell at politicians who won't act and the media liars who support them. Be mad at stupidity and ignorance. Rage at the fossil fuel types who screw your world (and theirs) for a few lousy $”. 

Thanks, Peter, I’m not sad, rather I’m “good”, and mad.

UN climate change talks in Madrid end with no agreement on carbon market rules or stronger pledges

Marathon international climate talks have ended with major polluters resisting calls to ramp up efforts to keep global warming at bay and negotiators postponing the regulation of global carbon markets until next year.

Those failures came even after organisers added two more days to the 12 days of scheduled talks in Madrid.

In the end, delegates from almost 200 nations endorsed a declaration to help poor countries that are suffering the effects of climate change, although they did not allocate any new funds to do so.

The final declaration called on the "urgent need" to cut planet-heating greenhouse gases in line with the goals of the landmark 2015 Paris climate change accord.

Read the ABC News story - “UN climate change talks in Madrid end with no agreement on carbon market rules or stronger pledges."

Taking 'possession' of a public space

Long have I admired those who take “possession” of a public space and make it theirs.

An example of that can be seen just off Shepparton’s Broken River Drive near the Melbourne Road bridge over the Broken River .

It was once the home of the Jackson family, but with the sale and removal of the house it became a neglected piece of river frontage until a local took “ownership” of it, treated it like his own, cared for it, beautified it to make it a place people frequently visited - there has even  been marriages there.

The City of Greater Shepparton came to appreciate its value to citizens, took it over and named it “Jackson Park”. It’s a beautiful spot, simple but   worth a visit.
In a similar case, I watched, during several annual visits to Queensland’s Sunshine Coast as something similar happened.

A war memorial had been established in the small park on the banks of Maroochy River at Maroochydore and although the memorial itself appeared OK, the surrounds were in need of maintenance, some simple love and attention.

A local fellow, who was a veteran of the Vietnam War, was distressed about the state of the memorial surrounds and so decided to do what he could to make the site worthy of the people it honoured.

He mowed the lawns, weeded what garden still existed, planted some new flowers and generally broadly improved the memorial’s surrounds.

My friend, yes I met him and talked with him about what he was doing, fell foul of what might be called “officialdom”.

His volunteer work was spotted by the local council and he was told he must stop immediately as the council’s public risk insurance did not cover him and the likelihood of him being injured in a “workplace” accident was risk it couldn’t take.

Fortunately a workaround was agreed on, my friend became a part-time, unpaid council employee and he was able to continue with his work on the memorial site.

My visit to the Sunshine Coast have become less frequent in recent years, but I understand the council now recognises its responsibility for the memorial gardens and so it is now a rather pleasant spot.

Where’s this all leading to?

Not for a second did I imagine that such a sense of ownership of a public space awaited me.

It’s not so much a space, more a piece of public infrastructure.

Living not far from Shepparton’s railway station and traveling whenever I can by “human-powered transport” - that’s walking, but it can be cycling - I frequently use the southern pedestrian crossing at Shepparton’s High St railway crossing.

For some inexplicable reason people seem to think it’s good place to dispose of their rubbish - bottles, cans, food wrappings, bits of clothing and packaging from store bought goods.

Picking up and disposing of the rubbish was just a casual thing at first, but it has become something of an obsession and I get grumpy when people drop their rubbish there as this is “my” spot.

Just recently things took a turn for the worst when somebody decided they wanted to make some adjustments, commonly called vandalism, to the metal fencing put there to protect pedestrians.

At first it was just a small dent, then a whole panel was knocked loose, which for a while I could stand up and make the place look presentable, but then one of the metal posts was knocked out of the ground and a whole panel flattened.

Unsure what to do, I inquired at the railway station and a fellow behind the counter said such things were not really their responsibility and so he gave me a Melbourne phone number.

That call quickly became a long and difficult phone affair as the fellow there thought I wanted to move a boundary fence on railway property in Shepparton and after being put on hold, twice, while he talked with his supervisor, I was then given another number.

The second phone call was, in its own way, equally difficult, but I had some success and the fellow said he would organise the repair work, and even gave me a case number.

Although encouraged by what seemed like success, I imaged months would pass before anything happened, if at all.

Surprise, surprise! In less than a week a team of three men, well equipped, appeared and in just few hours repaired “my” damaged fence.

It now looks wonderful and “my” space is back in good order, and I’m chuffed.
Our Earth needs us to be more attentive to our home however, if that is too big, too complex then how about “taking possession” of tiny public space right here in Shepparton.

Coping with Climate Change Distress

There has been a recent flurry of articles and radio stories regarding the rise of climate grief and ecological anxiety in Australia and abroad. 

For some support and advice on living with such distress a number of groups came together to publish this pamphlet on coping with climate change distress.

Read the pamphlet, download it here - “Coping with Climate Change Distress.”

Living in an echo chamber, just like everyone else

I live in an echo chamber.

I read about the climate crisis, frequently; I hear about the climate crisis, many of my friends talk about the climate crisis; often, I travel to and from Melbourne to listen to lectures about the climate crisis; I’m involved with two Shepparton-based groups focussed on climate matters; I maintain a blog (“Beneath the Wisteria”) and several months ago started a podcast (“Climate Conversations”) that are both about helping others better understand what damage we have caused to the world’s climate system.




And just a week ago I was in Myrtleford for a day-long conference/launch of a project to embed climate adaptation in agriculture.

 Further, last Saturday week, I spent the day at the Tatura Transition Towns annual film festival entitled “The Power of Youth”, which, in its own way, was an extension of the “School strike for Climate” movement.

And is that out of balance? 

No, not at all, especially when you consider the blinkered view of others who see the world through the prism of economics and profit, and so work tirelessly to maintain a way of life that is at odds with our wellbeing and is herding humanity toward an existential apocalypse.

And do I have hope? Well, most days yes, and others not so much. My spirit rises and falls, but to be without hope would be to deny my humanity and so I cling to the idea of American author Studs Terkel who said: “Hope dies last”.

What we understand as the market system can justifiably claim many of the advances enjoyed by humanity, but its sustenance in the last six decades, in particular, has seen the atomization of society leading to the stupendous enrichment of a few coupled with poverty and inequality in many corners of the world.

Ancient Greece philosopher, Aristotle, lamented, even then, the inbuilt damning contradictions of the market system, but I write with care for American professor and author, Steven Pinker, has dedicated entire books to reminding his readers just how good life is for most people.

The idea of doom prosecuted by much in the media distresses Pinker and in his view does not fit with daily realities presently faced by many around the world.

Pinker, of course, has made judgements about contemporary, tangible and understandable matters, but the climate crisis is, as writer and consultant Roger Molins, says is quite different; it is intangible.

“We do not perceive climate change as it is, we do not touch it; it absolutely defies the definition of what a thing is.” he writes.

Yes, the facts are grim but they alone will not change our behaviour and it was only last week that Dr Margret Hickey, speaking at Shepparton’s La Trobe University, when discussing writing through the Anthropocene, pointed to stories, true and otherwise, as being the lever that shifted humanity. 

Many practical things will help us mitigate the causes of climate change, and adapt to its unfolding difficulties, but the essence of who we are is to be found in our stories; stories that need to be told, urgently.

Dad became the 'man-of-the-house' at just four-years-old.

My dad was just four-years-old when his father died.

Dad had two younger sisters and so effectively only a baby himself, he instantly became the “man” of the house.

My dad's swing-saw looked a lot like this.

My grandfather, dad’s dad, was something of an enigma to me as anyone who actually knew him was dead before I arrived, and any record of his life is slight or simply doesn’t exist.

We do know that he owned and operated stables in Echuca’s main street, opposite the Catholic church and stretching through to High St.

He died when a horse kicked his head and we don’t know if that was instant or he died later. I could research it I suppose, but it is not in my nature to look back, despite knowing that preparation for the future is best founded on an understanding of the past.

Dad died in 1992, on my wife’s birthday sadly, and I thought a lot about him as I sat listening to Professor Brendan Wintle talk about the million species at risk of extinction.

An eager interest in the topic was piqued when he asked the audience what is was that posed the greatest threat to Australian mammals.

The audience response was as expected, covering all the usual suspects such as cats, forest clearing, urban sprawl and cars, but Prof Wintle surprised most everyone when he declared it was “rabbits” which were decimating our mammal species. They eat all the grass and leave nothing for others.

Dad had matured quickly into the man of the house and by the time he had reached double figures he was supplementing the family larder and income by catching and selling both rabbits and mussels.

And although rabbits, which were then a pest and still are, might give us reason to curse them for the devastation they cause to our landscapes, there was in fact a vital source of sustenance for many Australian families early last century.

Dad, who rarely talked about himself and you had to drag the stories from him, told of coming home from a rabbiting expedition with nearly more rabbits than he could carry hanging all over his bike.

He said that they were in such proportions one year that if confronted by a fence they were unable to get through, they would chaotically pile up at the fence until the late arrivals could rush over the squirming bodies of their compatriots to clear the fence.

It was during those plagues, he said, that the paddocks themselves appeared to be moving - they were effectively alive with rabbits.

Dad had little education and tried his hand at many things before becoming a beekeeper, and eventually the president of the Victorian Apiarists Association.

As much of the specialised equipment he needed wasn’t available in the pre and post First and Second World War eras, he was forced to design and build his own, including a caravan-like extracting plant and a huge shed with two insulated “warming rooms” critical to the honey extraction process.

Being a beekeeper and so working in what was considered an essential industry - bees wax was needed for weapons sent to the tropics - his attempts to enrol in the armed forces were denied.

As he was one of the few men in what was largely a “men-less” community, it was his task to provide the wood for many families and so about then he dreamt up and built a swing-saw - a rather large blade on the end of a long a metal arm and powered by a small motor that allowed him to move and saw up logs.

Many watching him build it said it would kill him - it didn’t and worked just as he imagined.

And how we need minds like those of my dad now!  He was resourceful, resilient, inventive and because of the life he was born into, he inherently understood the three R’s we all need to hold close now - reduce, reuse and recycle.