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Tag Archives: Big Tobacco

Reflections on the return of the Green Horned Devil

The green-horned devil, “Mother of Dragons”, or 12P/Pons-Brooks, a dirty big snowball, larger than Everest, hurtles into view from the edge of the solar system every seventy-one years. And out. It’s pulled by our sun’s gravity, an invisible vaudeville hook, flashing by the rare blue jewel of earth, a nephrite jade orb and ion streamer trail. Look for it near Jupiter.

Is it an omen? A warning to beware the fifties? Especially as re-invented by Peter Dutton, Pauline Hanson, Clive Palmer, Barnaby Joyce, wee Donnie Trump and other populists’ cynical nostalgia tripping, scare-mongering and dangerous propagandizing?

Our populists are heavily invested in pretending that the 1950s, were a type of utopia. Strong leaders’ epic deeds confer certainty. You know the pitch. Big Men make history as corrupt elites cower in cowards’ corner. Best of all there is no wokery. Political correctness is yet to be invented. Blokes speak freely. Women keep mum. Tobacco relieves stress.

Strong leaders crush dissent, says Benito Dutton or that is what he implies. The neo-fascist in him alleges that our PM muffed his shot at responding strongly to October’s pro-Palestine protests, outside The Opera House. Part-time Pete shows up at work to say it is “weak” compared to big John’s strong words on the 1996 Port Arthur massacre.

Saint John Howard is Dutton’s archetypal strong man who, like St Patrick ridding Ireland of snakes, banished all the guns from Tasmania – or Australia. Yet, there are now more guns than ever. In 2019, The Australia Institute finds that the gun lobby per capita in Australia equals America’s, NRA. Not only do we own more guns, but there’s also a dramatic increase in multiple gun ownership. Yet gun club membership is declining.

If Dutt’s deathless oratory is more than a bromantic ode to Howard, the toxic dwarf who made Australia a meaner, narrower place, then it has us bluffed. Can it be – merely – that our corporate media will run the word “weak” on their “news” round ups on tabloid TV?

Are we also to see the return of Marlboro Man? (1954) Inspiration for the uber-masculine androgen-pumped “Marlboro Man” cowboy icon comes in 1949 from an issue of Life magazine. Previously the company is pitching “healthy” filtered cigarettes to women.

Fun fact. After Marlboro Man David McLean’s death from lung cancer, in 1995, his widow, Lilo McLean, sues Philip Morris, claiming her late husband’s cancer is a result of the fact that he had to smoke several packs of cigarettes during advertising shoots. Her case is dismissed. She is ordered to pay Marlboro’s court case costs.

Big tobacco is thriving. With a bit of help from its friends. Nigh on half of all tobacco lobbyists (48%) in Australia have formerly held positions in government, according to research into the revolving door tactic, used by Big Tobacco, published by The University of Sydney in 2023. Nicotine addiction is a killer. Our leading cause of death and disability, smoking kills over 20,000 of us each year.

Nostalgia is not what it used to be. The Mother of Dragons is a heaven-sent reminder that second world war and related disease and famine kill up to 85 million including civilians, who make up over 80% of Allied deaths. Countless others are still suffering in 1953, when the young princess Elizabeth, with her inimitably clipped microphone manner, a model of Received Pronunciation and a type of governess who knows the words for feelings but who is schooled in not letting any feelings show – is showing the flag in Kenya at the time, has greatness thrust upon her.

Her chain-smoking Papa, George VI, dies abruptly of lung cancer at age 56. Of course, a team of crack royal surgeons is on to it, whipping out a dud lung, in a pneumonectomy, in September 1951, whilst keeping the Big C secret from the King. Cancer quickly kills him.

“It was announced from Sandringham at 10:45 a.m. today, Feb. 6, 1952, that the king, who retired to rest last night in his usual health, passed peacefully away in his sleep early this morning.”

It is kept from his subjects. Cancer is left out of the announcement of his death; along with the truth of his empire’s terminal decline; just as the type of cancer afflicting his hapless grandson, Charles III, not so long to reign over us, must stay a mystery, lest the magic and mystique of royalty with its hallowed longevity and hereditary privilege be diminished.

Luckily, the resourceful phone-hacking flacks at The Daily Fail, The Mirror, The Tele and other monarchist, tabloid lap-dogging fish wraps of Little Britain, pivot to a cameo of a plucky Chuck halfway up a cliff in a basket at Mount Athos. Or purging on herbs, as he seeks a cure in alternative medicine from Archimandrite Ephraim, an Orthodox mountebank with a hotline to God to rival the late, great family favourite, Rasputin, who was a pillar of strength to Charlie’s Great Uncle Tsar Nicky II and his haemophiliac son.

Alternative medicines are cool and are great clickbait for the mass followers of the growing anti-vax-anti-science cult, our current, toxic popular wave of mass superstition.

But it ends badly for the Romanovs, despite appointing Grigori Rasputin as family healer and a spot in government. Nicky’s cousin, George V, refuses to grant them asylum in England. Team Dutton would totally understand. Only nine years earlier, they’re holidaying together on the Isle of Wight, writing tender, long, letters signed “Nicky” and “Georgie”.

Plans are afoot to put Nicky up at Balmoral, but Georgie changes his mind with the help of Private Secretary, Lord Stanfordham. The royal minder points out the risks of two top monarchies in one UK, offending Britain’s Bolshevik sympathisers and adds that Nicky’s wife, Tsarina Alexandra, is German and England is at war with Germany. Alexandra is Queen Victoria’s granddaughter – so no close family bonds at all.

No asylum leaves the Bolsheviks free to murder the entire Romanov family in April 1918. The Romanovs were assassinated in case they were rescued by White Russians.

Some members take thirty minutes to die. It is a brutal, disorganised slaughter, much as is currently taking place in the IDF’s raid on Palestinians kettled up in the Nur Shams’ refugee camp in the city of Tulkarem in The West Bank. Or in what remains of Gaza.

Peter Dutton would also approve of strong man, Joseph Stalin, another man of steel, who, naturally, has a Marlboro Man tobacco habit, for the ways he crushes dissent, as he wrests totalitarian control from Old Bolsheviks and eliminates most of their leaders and engineers the deaths of millions in a dynamic of show-trials, spies and a witch-hunting persecution.

Jovial Joe is a dab hand at repression. His tyranny leads to the “… direct and indirect deaths of an estimated twenty million people through starvation, executions, and forced labor camps.” But by 29 May 1953, things are looking up.

In 1953 Stalin will gasp his last, while lanky, Kiwi cow-cocky and bee-keeper, ex- RAF navigator, Sir Edmund Percival Hillary, a non-smoker, drags all 6’5” of himself atop Chomolungma, Mother Goddess of the Earth, as Tibetans know Everest, and stands with one foot in Nepal and the other in China, on a blizzardy ridge at the icy summit 29,031 feet above sea level with the help of the enigmatic man who embodies contested nationality, Namgyal Wangdi, known also as Tenzing Norgay from the Indian hill town of Darjeeling, once a summer retreat from the heat of Kolkata, for pukka sahib, colonialists.

Why climb Mount Everest? Hillary did not foresee the stampede that ensues.

“We thought that since we’d climbed it, people would lose interest.”

It’s unlikely that the boys climb Everest, then set about to salute the green devil. But you do get a better view on top of the world’s highest mountain. Provided you take your goggles off. And you are not enveloped in a blue fog of tarry pipe tobacco smoke. Is it emblematic of man’s disastrous urge to combat nature? Or ambition for life-enhancing kudos?

It is Norgay’s sixth crack at the summit, and he has valuable tips on The Mother to help Edmund Hillary. Other secrets and mysteries remain to this day. The non-smokers carry 15,000 cigarettes in their kit. Accounts merely, cryptically, note that Colonel John Hunt and Dr Charles Evans, his deputy leader of the expedition were veteran pipe smokers.

Is Tenzing Norgay a great man or merely a loyal servant? Hillary gets a knighthood from thin Lizzie who loves tall men. His image is everywhere- coins, stamps, portraits, streets are named after him in New Zealand, but his guide cops it from bitter village rivals, jealous of his success when the pair descend from the realm of the goddess to the world of men. Neither climber is expecting to become a celebrity. Nor welcomes any of it.

“I thought if I climbed Everest whole world very good … I never thought like this.”

The rise of the modern nation state is neither smooth nor simple. Being Indian by choice and long residence, Nepalese by birth, and Sherpa – Tibetan, by stock is common for men in the shadow of Chomolungma. Whilst he carries both Indian and Nepalese passports, India and Nepal fight to claim him, a fight which India, of course wins.

A tip from Charles Darwin. “It is not the most intellectual of the species that survives; it is not the strongest that survives; but the species that survives is the one that is able best to adapt and adjust to the changing environment in which it finds itself.”

If it were a sentient being, the green devil would wonder anew at the blue jewel, a youngster only 4.5 billion years old- yet already faltering under the legacy of seven decades of despoliation. In 1953, Oil and tobacco companies are putting their heads together, downplaying the dangers of smoking and climate change. They share researchers, strategies and tactics to con the population into nicotine and fossil fuel addiction.

Humans have been around for 140,000 years. Or 2.5 seconds if we compress the life of earth into twenty-four hours. Conceptual artist Anya Anti writes:

“In 2.5 seconds, we’ve become the dominant species with a rapidly growing population, causing a catastrophic environmental impact …three-quarters of Earth’s land surface is under pressure from human activity. In just 2.5 seconds, we’ve turned the planet into our own personal factory.

And our personal dumpster. Hillary again:

The South Col, at 26,000 feet, is the highest rubbish dump in the world. Included up there are cans, torn tents, oxygen bottles and the rest of it – and a few dead bodies. So, it may be quite a few years before, (a) all expeditions bring off everything they bring up, and (b) all the stuff from previous expeditions is cleared off and out.

“From the 1950s onward, the oil and tobacco firms were using not only the same PR firms and same research institutes, but many of the same researchers,” Center for International Environmental Law (CIEL) President Carroll Muffett says in a statement.

“Again and again, we found both the PR firms and the researchers worked first for oil, then for tobacco. It was a pedigree the tobacco companies recognized and sought out.”

The Mother of Dragons’ visit from 1953 gives us a chance to gaze skyward in wonder at our fleeting celestial guest, the size of Everest. If only we could also drag our leaders away from our national bondage to oil, tobacco, and corporate news companies to look in earnest at abating the damage already done by fossil fuel companies sharing tobacco industry tactics.

We could also take the opportunity to repudiate populists’ facile arguments for strong leaders and suppressing our humanity or what can go wrong when like George VI, we repel asylum-seekers; while allowing a moment’s reflection on how best to call out the entrenched power of the tobacco lobby and the anti-climate change brigade.

Unlike the comet, our planet will not bounce back in seventy-one years.

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Team Dutton duds women; snubs gender equality, bipartisanship and democracy

Actions speak louder than words if not nearly as often, while inactions can speak louder than both. The Liberals are paying lip service to a target of fifty percent women in ten years, after Morrison’s catastrophic election hot mess-dumpster-fire-trainwreck in 2022 triggered an independent review from Peta Credlin’s manbag, Brian Loughnane and jolly Jane Hume. Hume tells women that they just need to work harder. Sweat destroys glass ceilings.

Seventeen Liberal women were elected to the House of Representatives in 2013. Today the number is nine. Crumb-maiden, Hume loves a colourful image. “We should gut the chicken properly before we read the entrails – and there’ll be a lot of gutting.”

There will be. Yet any practical reform like quotas is Liberal heresy. Easier to scapegoat Scott Morrison. It’s Harpo Marx syndrome, as if ScoMo, a lightweight shonk, somehow, is not the product of a party in such decline that it could allow itself to be conned into electing him as leader. But the sole cause? You may as well try nailing a jelly to the wall.

Or try to get any policy detail out of Peter Dutton. After his flirtation with nuclear and his quick whirl with birthday girl, Gina Rinehart, Dutts cuts up ugly, this week, over Labor’s decision not to proceed with the dregs of Morrison’s mis-named religious freedom bill.

Labor wants to delete section 38 of The Sex Discrimination Act, 1984, forced on a Hawke government, which allows churches to discriminate lawfully and “against another person on the ground of … sexual orientation, gender identity, marital or relationship status or pregnancy” in relation to the provision of education or training.

But the PM is not about to get dragged into another culture war which lets the Opposition set the agenda. He will not proceed unless he can count on bipartisan support from the federal Coalition, some of whom are more concerned with which toilet we use than policy on equality, wages or cost of living. Peter Dutton goes bananas. It doesn’t help.

Culture wars, transphobia and hyper partisanship butter no parsnips. Junkyard’s dog in the manger politics won’t win power. Michelle Grattan calls the Coalition, a flightless bird because the Liberals lost their moderate wing. It’s a fair image but ignores the fact that so-called “moderates”, generally, lacked the bottle to rock ScoMo’s boat let alone cross the floor. Save Bridget Archer, now in Dutton’s, new, bijou, backbench purdah for her pains.

In fact, many Lib MPs seem to be in an induced coma, witness hapless Shadow Treasurer, Angus Taylor, afflicted by crippling avolition. As is his new assistant Luke Howarth, who may be a Duttonista in nodding for the camera in Question Time but does little else. A coma won’t help the Libs recover from their mugging by reality, 21 May 2022. Instead, it helps it turn hard right with a vengeance, as if, at last, it’s found true North.

Hume and Loughnane’s party vivisection finds that despite (or because of) His Divine Inspiration, the laying on of hands and frequent recourse to prayer, Holy ScoMo proved deaf to women’s concerns. If only Jen could have told him he had his head up his bum.

“Jenny has a way of clarifying things.” Indebted to his Stepford wife Jenny, for his epiphany into rape being bad for women, Morrison writes off most of the Liberals inner-metropolitan seats and ignored the Teals- after all, they are only women-in his rush to woo the blokes, outer suburban tradies in utes, he imagines might enjoy a return to the 1950s.

Grattan lets him have it. ‘“His arrogant, or ill-informed, assumption seems to have been the teals were just a bunch of irritating women, and that professional people – including and especially female voters – in traditional Liberal seats would buy the government’s insulting argument these candidates were “fakes”.’

Election review box ticked, the next Liberal initiative is a therapeutic group-hug around the “no quotas”, totem allowing The LNP to remain a former private schoolboys’ club. (As is Labor but barely fifty per cent and with fifty per cent women representation.) Jane Hume declares that the quote may work in corporations, but the Liberal Party is a different beast.

It is. Over seventy percent of Liberals and over 65 percent of Nationals attended private, mostly single-sex secondary schools. Barnaby Joyce, the world’s best advertisement for Sydney’s exclusive Riverview, after Old Boy, Tony Abbott. Attended also by loud, lusty, rugger-playing lads who are now almost twenty per cent of NSW’s supreme court judges.

It shows. The Liberal problem with men goes beyond excluding women from power. It has a problem with masculinity itself. As does junior partner, the shagged-out National Party now backed by Big Tobacco and roped into coalition to win power. Three years ago, The Greens’ membership (11,500) overtook the Nationals which continues its free-fall decline.

In Peter “The Protector” Dutton, the Coalition clings to an atavistic paternalism that is unwise, unjust and unsafe. It peddles a testosteronic, if not toxic, masculinity in the myth of the strong, “tough but fair” patriarchal leader, while men tighten their squirrel-grip on power in the scrum as preferred candidates in safe seats.

Just as forty-one per cent of us have been led to falsely believe “domestic violence” (DV) is equally perpetrated by men and women, ABS data reveals, DV is predominantly male violence against women. Yet we are expected to trust Dutton because he’s tough.

The truth is out there. “No Voice for You,” a bad parody of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi, Dutton is a parody of fearless leadership in protecting a fair and just process in any sphere.

Unerringly, Dutts backs another dud, Nathan Conroy a callow, “small government” stud-muffin from Cork, now man-about Frankston, whose acting mayor is still at school. In Dunkley, the Libs believe a bloke will have more appeal than Jodie Belyea, a woman committed to empowering women; seeking power to achieve social justice? As Belyea is welcomed into parliament this week, Albo notes Labor now has more women representatives than men. But just how many of those are running the joint?

The Guardian Australia’s Amy Remeikis tallies up. “In Queensland, men were preselected for the safe seats of Fadden and Bowman and James McGrath won the Senate ticket battle over Amanda Stoker. Karen Andrews’ McPherson branch … will be deciding between four men for its next candidate. That will leave Angie Bell as the sole woman in the Liberals’ strongest state. Bell is also facing a fierce preselection challenge from men, which if successful would mean out of the 23 seats the LNP hold, Michelle Landry would be the only woman – and she sits in the Nationals party room.”

WA senator, the delightfully named and perfectly formed, Ben Small, will replace Nola Marino as Liberal candidate for Forrest and Dev, “Dave” Sharma is warming the senate seat vacated by low profile, party apparatchik promoted into parliament, Marise Payne.

The Liberals know they lost the last election, largely because they alienate women voters. Hume and Loughnane spell it out delicately behind the screen of perception. Morrison “was perceived” to have a tin ear on women’s issues. But Dutton has industrial deafness.

What better than a safe seat such as Cook, for example, for veteran family advocate commissioner, Gwen Cherne? No endorsement by its incumbent? Yeah. Nah. ScoMo fails Cherne, despite gushing earlier that “he’d love to see” a woman in his vacated seat. Pious piffle. In the end, he backs former McKinsey consultant, carpetbagger, Simon Kennedy.

No-one expects Morrison to keep his word. Just ask Emmanuel Macron.

“Actions define a man; words are a fart in the wind,” Mario Puzo reminds us, while Charlie Chaplin noted, “Words are cheap. The biggest thing you can say is elephant.”

Simon Kennedy, a blow-in who failed in Bennelong, confirms that a woman’s place is not in Liberal politics. Dutton promotes a type of chest-beating pseudo-masculinity. It’s all we need to protect us all. Listen as he derides Albo as “weak and woke”. His office is channeling Republican Nikki Haley. All week, Dutton works the word “weak” into his increasingly strident diatribes against the PM. Soon it will be “limp, weak and woke.”

Similarly, misled by the hairy-chested stereotype of muscular masculinity is former failed PM, macho-man, Tony Abbott, who as a student politician was witnessed throwing punches near the head of his opponent, Barbara Ramjan. Dutton’s soul brother, in his human wrecking-ball, approach to opposition went on to become a clueless PM. (Those punches never happened, Abbott contends, despite eye-witness accounts.)

Now climate-change-is-crap-Abbott’s a Victor Orban fanboy, a right-wing think tank crew member and token anti-woke bloke on the Murdoch’s Fox Corporation’s board. For Tony, women on boards conjures up ironing, not women on boards who run corporations.

The Libs also dump Anne Ruston to elevate Alex Antic, a poor man’s Cory Bernardi to number one spot on the SA senate ticket. It sends a message akin to Tony Abbott’s appointment of himself as Minister for Women or Philosopher Morrison’s IWD speech that equality is done and dusted but we can’t promote women at the expense of men. Listen? Meet their leaders? Women who protest can be grateful they are not being gunned down.

But as the SA senate choice shows, the reverse is perfectly OK. Antic, moreover, will be able to be Dutton’s muppet, saying things the Thug would love to say himself if he could.

“… the ‘gender card’ is nothing but a grievance narrative, constructed by the activist media and a disgruntled political class … we need the best person for the job regardless of race, gender or sexuality,” Antic says.

Ruston will almost certainly be re-elected from second place, but the die is cast.

Built in to the born to rule DNA of the Liberals and the self-righteous, sense of entitlement nurtured on the playing fields of Riverview and fostered by the oligarchs of our nation’s corporate media, is an inability to learn from their mistakes. Similarly with narcissistic personalities such as Morrison. Any review is pure theatre, a ritual which may help ease the pain of loss. Its actors may censure Scott Morrison, but he’ll continue to clap himself on the back. As he did in his farewell speech. As will acolytes and admirers such as Dutton.

The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history,” is often attributed to Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel 1770-1831 who did, indeed, say something a bit like that in the introduction to his Philosophy of History.

“But what experience and history teach is this, – that peoples and governments never have learned anything from history or acted on principles deduced from it.”

We can never step into the same river twice. Hegel is warning readers of the madness of extrapolating lessons from a past which has irrevocably changed. But this should not cause us to forget our past. Peter Dutton can huff and puff all he likes but the reality is that women are not after a hairy-chested provider but equality, respect and recognition.

Similarly, Anthony Albanese is entitled to applaud Labor for having exceeded its fifty per cent quota of women representatives in parliament. But it’s slim consolation to all those women MPs who are excluded by gender from the levers of power.

The Liberal Party, with Peter Dutton in the wheelhouse, shows no real commitment to gender equality, bipartisanship, or democracy, preferring instead the wrecking ball that first advanced – then quickly undid another moral and political pygmy, Tony Abbott.

Abbott’s landslide victory only exposed his extensive limitations; he was unfit to govern. In net terms, his government was a disaster for his party. As was Morrison’s. Selecting male candidates for winnable seats will only accelerate the party’s steep decline.

The decline in the number of women elected to the House of Representatives, its reluctance to implement practical reforms such as quotas, ought to be a wake-up call for the Liberals, for whom History seems to have decided, “It’s Time.”

Of deeper concern, however, is the re-emergence of veneration for the strong man in politics, a fallacy once believed to have been consigned to the dustbin of history, is now enjoying a type of renaissance across the globe. George Santayana wrote,

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

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