marx and marzipan

This post is long overdue, and would most certainly have been far too stale for publication had it not been for a certain anniversary here in Australia.

This year at SXSW I skipped the Jason Kottke / Heather Champion yawn-fest, opting instead for a few hours of fun at Red’s Indoor Range, a place that seemed a very long way from the Austin Convention Centre.

Why would a peace-nik, tree-hugging, failed-hippy, ex-Marxist, sometime Buddhist do such a thing? I guess like most things in life that have lead me astray, I had a deep curiosity, heavily informed by popular culture. Would the kick back land me on my ass? (it didn’t); Would I experience a vertigo-like drag toward turning the gun on everyone in range? (not at all); Would I get to truly understand the term “deadly accuracy”? (I was probably deadly, but far from accurate). This was more than enough to make me dismiss images of dusky children fighting wars in some African hell, and statistics like 80 people a day in the US dying gun related deaths (58% of which are suicides). Principles are *so* Web 1.0.

And of course, easily lead as I am, there was no way I could resist my friend Meri’s enthusiasm. I’d said I would bring along some Aussies to have a bit of a go, and Aussies I would bring! So, in Cheryl’s pickup, together with the ammo already picked up from Walmart, and some ominous looking bags that could only contain “the guns” we were off.

Until the guns start going off, Red’s has the calm atmosphere of a suburban pharmacy. Without reading a word, I signed some sort of indemnity, was given some ear muffs, and next minute I had a 22 in my hand, and was looking at a target, which Cheryl had most generously placed approximately 10 feet away.

“Rest it firmly in the soft fold of your shoulder, release the safety catch, look down the site and line up the target, squeeeeeeeeeeeeze the trigger.”

“Pop”

“Did anything happen??”

With a 22 you pretty much don’t feel anything, and the holes in the target were so small that at this distance I couldn’t even see them. My first hint at the way of the gun: until you experience it yourself, you cannot understand the chasm that opens up between your actions (squeeeeeeeeeze the trigger) and their results (a neat 5mm hole in a piece of paper 10 feet away).

The experience brought a redolence to the term “I popped a cap in his ass”.

Time for something bigger.

Meri has a friend in Austin called Ron. Ron has a very nice arsenal. I know this because Meri told me, in this way creating the nicest sentence I have ever received in an email. On this day, Ron was kind enough to lend us his HK Assault Rifle. He was also kind enough to feed us with the most delicious meal I have probably eaten in America, but more on that later. The HK certainly looked more evil than the 22, and packed a bit more of a kick (though still not enough to knock my 55kg on the ground…..um, yeah, I probably should update that number slightly since this trip, but 55 has a nice roundness to it that I’m reluctant to let go of…). And yes, I’ll admit it, it was much more satisfying to use. When the target came back the holes in the paper were also much scarier.

What did it feel like? It smelt like teen spirit, and it sounded like thunder and it tasted a little bit like the coiny flavour of fear. But it felt a lot like “relaxed and comfortable”. Your mind focuses on the physical challenge of hitting the target, leaving little space for politics, doubt and grey areas. So, it was fun, and if I didn’t think about it for too long, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

On the way back, Cheryl was kind enough to take us via the great little business she owns, Pasta and Co. Here Ron, of nice arsenal fame, dished us up, as I said previously, the best meal I ate on the whole trip. If you’re ever in Austin, I can assure you, you will tire of beans and tex-mex. Get out to Pasta and Co for the best hand made pasta this side of Roma. And you won’t find friendlier, more down to earth people anywhere. Would love to return the favour some day here in Sydney guys. I doubt the Maroubra pistol club could live up to Red’s, but I could probably introduce you to a bit of fine eating, Aussie style.

So, I left Austin with the idea of guns rehabilitated, and I’ll always be grateful to Cheryl and Meri and Ron for a great afternoon.

But it’s never easy to really understand the world. Yesterday I read in the paper a little revisitation of what happened at Port Arthur, Tasmania, 10 years ago now. How easy it is to forget that 35 people died, though I doubt that anyone who lost someone would forget it for a moment. After my day at Red’s I’ll be the first one to say that shooting at targets is fun, and hell, I’m no Jain, so given the chance I’m no longer sure I’d say no to having a go at a kangaroo, or some other of god’s creatures with the misfortune of being labelled feral. And yeah, it’s a truism that guns don’t kill people etc etc etc. In my heart though, I kinda feel that you can’t regulate people like Martin Bryant out of existance. Are the actions, and their results, of the edge cases a price worth paying for the opportunity of a bit of fun? Do I draw a connection where there is none?

So much for travelling light. Power adaptors, powerboards and more cables and devices than I care to mention jangling along behind me, this morning in just a few hours I slip into the ether.

I was happy with the compromise of taking only 3 blank DVDs, in slim cases, which allowed me to fit in an extra pair of red shoes “just in case”.

I feel so lucky. I’ve had two trips overseas per year for the last couple of years, something my grandparents, and maybe even my parents, could only have dreamt of as a once in a lifetime experience. My mission on this trip is to make every moment seem as precious as they would have perceived it.

This makes me ill in so many ways, but I’m going to stick to just two of them here.

According to this story in today’s smh government backbencher (and let’s not forget, former minister) Danna Vale has publicly commented

“I have read…comments by a certain imam from the Lakemba Mosque [who] actually said that Australia is going to be a Muslim nation in 50 years’ time,” said Mrs Vale, MP for the southern Sydney seat of Hughes.

“I didn’t believe him at the time. But…look at the birthrates and you look at the fact that we are aborting ourselves almost out of existence by 100,000 abortions every year…You multiply that by 50 years. That’s 5 million potential Australians we won’t have here.”

Where is leadership?

This is a horrible and racist thing to say. Firstly to simply refer to the inflammatory comments of “a certain [un-named] imam” and imply from this that these are the thoughts, feelings and policies of all Muslims in Australia is irresponsible in the extreme, particularly given recent events. And let no one forget that Danna Vale is the member for Hughes, an electorate which takes in large parts of “The Shire”, though not Cronulla itself.

And that a member of parliament would refer to “5 million potential Australians”, which comes from the (misguided) assumption that Muslim women don’t have abortions and the (vile) assumption that Muslims aren’t even Australian, is pretty horrible as well.

But what I shall be going back to the newspaper looking out for today is a statement by our prime minister, pointing out that trolls like this are unacceptable. I’d like him to prove me wrong, but my guess is I’m going to be waiting quite some time.

“I don’t believe those statistics”

You see this 100 000 abortions number bandied around all the time in Australia. It’s a nice big scary number that makes anyone with a heart feel vaguely squeamish, yes, myself included. The only problem with it is that by any reasonable assessment it is almost certainly far wide of the mark.

The problem is that statistics on abortions per se are not collected in Australia. As this research brief from the Parliament of Australia Parliamentary Library outlines, the figure is generally taken from statistics on two particular procedures which map to items on the Medical Benefits Schedule. The big problem is that these procedures can be carried out in the context of a pregnancy termination or as the result of miscarriage or fetal death, or other gynecological conditions not even related to pregnancy. And there is no way of looking at those statistics and determining how many are in fact abortions: the data simply isn’t there. Three researchers are quoted, with their estimate for what proportion of Medicare claims for these item numbers are for abortions varying between 25% and 90%.

The brief goes on to talk about other methods of coming up with this figure, all of them problematic. Oh, and the number mentioned most often in this brief is 75 000, not 100 000, but what’s 30% inaccuracy when no journalist is ever going to bother to pull you up on it?

Oh, and I had to draw on the years of study for my Masters in Communications (or whatever it is journalists do these days) to find that brief: I googled “100 000 abortions” and Australia. It’s the first hit, can’t miss it

Update

Amanda Vanstone, good for her!, has come out and hammered Danna Vale about her intemperate comments, saying:

“I mean, I just don’t know where this idea has come from. It’s just not possible … I might remind everybody that unless you’re a full-blood indigenous Australian, you’ve got migrant blood in your veins and the only thing we’re talking about is how long ago did your lot come versus my lot.”

Hear bloody hear.

John Howard yet to comment, despite a number of calls for him to do so.

Almost 10 years ago now John Howard was elected. One of his mantras at the time was that “political correctness had gone too far”. And so he began the process of rolling back the process of enlightenment that had been happening in Austrlia since the early seventies. And with very few exceptions, none really, he has won this battle.

An example of just how easy it is to turn back the tide can be found in this story here, where a survey has found that more than half of Victorian schoolchildren view Muslims as terrorists, and two out of five agree that they are “unclean”. Something to be proud of.