Saturday 19 April 2008

Let a thousand ideas bloom.

“We’ve opened the windows of our democracy to let in a bit of fresh air!”
Thus spake Kevin as he opened the 2020 Summit.
And verily did I fall about in wonder and amazement, for they are famous words!!

You probably have to be a Catholic, old enough (not to mention interested enough) to remember the election of Pope John XXIII and what happened shortly afterwards, to get this one. Being such, I want to share it with you. You see, very shortly after the JXXIII’s election there was a gathering of the big guns of the church at which the question was put to the new Pope: What is the agenda for your papacy? The jolly Pope smiled for a moment, got up, walked to the nearest window and opened it. He then turned to the assembled princes and said: I want to open the windows of the church to let in a bit of fresh air.

It just goes to show… when a Pope can anticipate the actions of an Australian Prime Minister the world must be in Go(o)d Hands. Just kidding of course. But there is metaphoric value in the coincidence – if that’s what it is – that I’d like to draw out a bit.

Let’s start with the suggestion that the Venerable Kevin’s choice of words was not a coincidence. We all know that Kevin is a practicing Christian. We see him on TV going to Anglican churches. But what many may not know is that he grew up as a Catholic. He’s not old enough (born 1957)to personally remember the news reports of the Pope’s breath taking words and action. But his vital years of personal formation (you know the saying attributed to the Jesuits – Give me a child until the age of seven and I will give you the man) coincided with the most exciting transformation in the life of the church since… well, since the first Pentecost. Kevin may not even be aware of the fact that his words echoed JXXIII, but it is not too much to suggest that there may be, for him, a deep unconscious connection between the potential of the 2020 Summit and the most astounding event of the era of his youth.

The Second Vatican Council galvanised people on a mass scale to recreate the face of the earth. There was near universal optimism among Catholics of the time about the future. And it wasn’t just Catholics. Protestants and Orthodox in great numbers watched in amazement and rejoiced as the Catholic church took unprecedented initiatives in ecumenism and engagement with the world. In its own internal life the transformation was almost like the emergence of a new religion, except that it was in fact the recovery in contemporary form of what had always been it’s essential inner life.

It is this manifest model of transformation that may be the root of Kevin’s motivation and vision. Being a root it is deep in the soil and therefore out of sight. But if it’s there we may be able to discern the pattern of a future that takes as its point of departure the 2020 Summit – a future that was already unfolding even before today. You may have noticed that people all over Australia have been at it for months – holding forums and testing means of “thinking outside the square”, and even daring to hope!! Reminding themselves that the past is not the only predictor of the future; dusting off the model of thinking that anticipates and therefore to a significant degree facilitates change; cutting through the definitions of what it means to be Australian, created by vested interests, to a vision of a just society in right relationship not only with itself but with the rest of the world and above all with the planet itself; taking the opportunity to absorb in advance as much of the agenda of the Summit as technology and willingness will enable, so that in the event they act disinterestedly (sic) on behalf of the greater good, the nature of which they can only glimpse partially as if in a glass darkly. If time permitted I could list a dozen more ways in which people of good will have flocked to this event on behalf of a sustainable and exciting future. But it is enough to draw attention to the discernable pattern of events.

If I am right about this we can expect not only good ideas from the Summit, but a vision of the future whose substance will take the whole country by surprise. People everywhere will meet in small groups to examine the implications of the documents that come from the Summit for their daily lives. People will see connections between issues they had never previously imagined and change the way do things. People will look to others they have never considered worthy of attention for clues about how to build relationships they never previously wanted. Sacred cows, such as “the bottom line” and “the inviolable rights of shareholders”, will be put out to pasture – not deprives of their rights, but stripped of undue influence. Courageous and innovative ways of creating sustainable prosperity will emerge in unlikely places and be adapted widely and rapidly. And people will make the connections between those new forms and those of earlier times that brought them forth as aspiring champions of the Fair Go.

People will ignore the few who say it can’t be done – like the politician who said: There are a thousand ideas, there are 660 minutes of discussion on the summit program, which means that for every idea there are 39.6 seconds put aside for discussing that particular idea.

To be continued…

I may not be my brother's keeper, but...

Please bear with me for the next few lines, especially if your political views differ from mine – god knows, I’ve made them clear – or even if you share my views but think I over do it a bit – or a lot. Just stay with me for a moment – please.

I’ve had no one take me up on the offer to dialogue about the apology. It’s possible that I have somehow contrived to be friends only with like minded people. I hope not. In fact I know that’s not true. It’s more likely that someone who thinks the apology wasn’t necessary also thinks that it’s none of my business what they think. And they’d be right. I’ll come back to that. I want to look first at another possibility: that someone, having understood the offer, rejected it because they don’t want to consider arguments for the apology. You know: I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind.

By now anyone who holds that position has stopped reading, so let me tell you, who may be curious to know what I have to say about it, what I think is wrong with that position. It’s easily illustrated. Just put the boot on the other foot, so to speak. Put those words in the mouth of a person in power. Shocking, eh? Does it sound like anyone you know? No. Because no one in power in a democracy could ever use those actual words. But actions speak. Can you think of anyone whose actions consistently signalled a refusal to “talk to the other side” – who talked at the other side instead? If you’re a coalition voter you’ve probably thinking Paul Keating. If you’re not you almost certainly have of someone else in mind. What if both points of view are right – or wrong? What if it’s not “either or” but “both and”?

Recall the 1996 election campaign and its aftermath. Pauline Hanson was speaking her mind. What she said embarrassed the Liberal party and they disendorsed her. Speaking about that period long after the event John Howard claimed that, in the years leading up to that election, people with views contrary to those of the “ruling elite” had been silenced. By the time he said this, he had systematically denigrated the world view of those he’d beaten at the ballot box and implemented policies that not only embodied his own world view, but flew in the face of scientific consensus in some cases. Along the way, people within his own party who had values that differed form his, either departed from politics or were, except on rare occasions, silent – possibly even silenced. What may or may not have been true in 1996 became increasingly so from then until 2007. Does it have to be like this? And how long can we survive as a country if we don’t start talking to one another? If we maintain a winner takes all mentality?

I remember vividly what it was like just before the 1996 election. If people who didn’t like “politically correct” views felt silenced, was it because they chose not to participate in the issues of the day? You know, I know what I think and I’m not changing my mind… And remember what it was like when the Howard government got control of both houses? I don’t care what you think. I’m going to do it my way. Coalition voters will argue that the country was in such a mess when the Howard government took over they had to repudiate the views of those they had replaced in order to put their own agenda into place. Others will say that when the Rudd government took over the country was an international pariah as a result of that agenda. If you’re a Labor supporter you might hope that things can be fixed up, but you need to be worried, because if you think what happened under the last government was bad, it’s nothing compared with what could happen next time the “conservatives” get power. If you’re a coalition voter you might be thinking the worst case scenario is already unfolding.

Both sides can stop the worst form happening. Here’s how. I care what you think and I want to talk with you about it. Now, about what other people think being none of my business….

Wednesday 9 April 2008

Bobby Flynn – the live show – with Omega 3

Have you heard of Bobby Flynn? If you watch Australian Idol, of course you have. Otherwise maybe not. We went to see him in concert on Friday 4/4/08 in the A&I Hall in Bangalow.

I was expecting not to be able to find a park. After all, millions voted for him on Idol, and surely they’d all be here tonight, I thought. But as soon as we turned into the main street – that is arrived in the main street: we didn’t actually metamorphose into bitumen edged with foot paths – there was a park right in front of the Bangalow pub. I suggested that I must have visualised it. If you know about “The Secret” you’ll know what I mean. If you don’t you’re lucky. Anyway, we walked… no, we sauntered… down the street, pausing to look at objects d’art in the windows. Bangalow’s that sort of place, if you haven’t been there – or even if you have been there. John saw a very nice hat and remarked that it would be good dipped, and thought the same about a number of tea cosies in another shop. Dipped? I hear you ask. In porcelain and fired. (see the photos of his work on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/sets/72157602126431721/) Meanwhile, despite being able to park so easily I was envisaging a throng of people around the next corner waiting to get in to the hall. There were lots of cars, but no people. I panicked. Did I get the time wrong? Has it already started? Having been a theatre manager, I wondered if we’d be locked out until there was a break in the performance. But no, when we arrived at the hall there were a few people gaggling at the door, which wasn’t yet opened, and I wondered if I’d got the date wrong. I sneaked a peek through a crack in the door and saw that there were chairs in about half of the hall. Well, something’s on, I reassured myself, but it’s not going to be as big a show as I had anticipated.

As 7:30 approached the street began to fill with people all streaming towards the hall. Mmmmmmmm, I thought. The elves and fairies know when to appear, because at about that moment the doors were flung open and we all queued to get in; and waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually we were let in, stamped with the mark of the beast – I can’t imagine why it was necessary to do that when we had tickets but there you go, that’s rock and roll - and found seats; and waited, and waited, and waited. Well, it was fun looking at the elves and fairies. Finally the lights dimmed and a troll in fairy’s clothing appeared on stage – on tip toes arching up to the mike and said, It looks like every time there’s an event around here I’m up on my tip toes because the person coming after me is always taller. Well you should have heard the audience. There was a deafening silence as everyone stayed in their seats and remained calm. She continued in a perfect monotone for what seemed like some minutes regaling the audience with coming attractions and email lists and … and suddenly I realised that this was not part of the performance but an advertisement. So I stopped paying attention, because I never allow myself to be influenced by ads. Later I did ask if anyone wanted to go the hear the Spooky Men’s Choir which she had mentioned. Anyway, suddenly she wasn’t there.

A bloke who obviously hadn’t combed his hair since he was a little boy, snuck through the curtain carrying a guitar. It was him carrying the guitar, by the way – not the curtain. His name, we’d already been told was Sean Murphy. He was to be the fire starter. You know, warm up the crowd. Get them going. That sort of thing. He sang a very nice song about God, said it wasn’t a religious song and said he wasn’t a Catholic. Yes, well you may ask. It might have been this that triggered the memory of a scene from Katy and Kym in which they were discussing names for the soon to be new baby. Kym mentions a name that Kath approves of and Kath begins to write it down, spelling it out as she goes, and Kym interrupts a gives another, obviously over the top, contrivance as the correct spelling. Anyway, there were about six or eight numbers in his bracket. It all sounded like the same song to me, but. Eh? Different words. Even different notes. But it still sounded like the same song six or eight times. The problem isn't a lack of diversity in his musical composition. I think it was the sentiments expressed. All of his songs were about emotional dependency. ...give your live to me...what if all I wanted to see was God...don't hold me inside...our love will always remain the same...show me the ways to love... But to be fair I have to say, he had a very nice voice and did a fine falsetto – which is a hell of a lot more than I can do. And yes. The crowd did warm to him. So he did a good job. Oh, and when I bought his disc at the end of the show I found that he wasn't Sean but Cheynne. Well, Cheynne was followed by Dan.

Dan told us he was Dan quite a few times in the first little bit. I think he was nervous and couldn’t think of anything else to say. But he settled down and started to play his guitar and sing and all of a sudden he had my attention! This guy could PLAY. Not to mention sing. And WRITE. He was all of twenty and had been a professional muso for three and a half years – and sounded like it. And his sentiments are about engagement...for the first time in my life I don't feel the same...a one night stand was hardly worth the drive...you leave me no choice but to disagree with all you do... 'cause the reflection that I see, never smiles back at me (that same reflection once smiled from ear to ear...can I please explain the way I feel...ya can't catch hearts with every line you cast...why can't they see that there's no need to be so greedy with me...have you ever seen people living day to day, never thinking twice before they throw their love away...he likes to sail, but man does he hate the ocean...street fighting man I don't wish to be around him...I get the feeling he don't wanna like me... To my ear, his words have a poignancy you expect from a mature song writer like Paul Kelly. The eight or ten songs he sang were very distinct. In a more discerning world, Dan would not be a support act.

Intermission came next. Or was it half time? Intermission, I think. The crowd was far too well mannered for it to be half time. Speaking of which, if you’re thinking that our party of four must have stood out like geriatric thumbs, you’d be dead wrong. I was certainly expecting a young crowd, but it was more like what you’d expect at a Musica Viva bash. You know, young faces to be seen for sure, but as many from 40 up as 30 down. I mention this because it says something about Bobby Flynn.

Yes, he was on Australian Idol. But so was Paul Potts. Paul who? Paul Potts was in British Idol – and won. Soooooooooo? Well, he is an opera singer. Here’s the link to his website, http://www.paulpottsuk.com/frontpage and if anyone’s interested, he’s appearing at the Adelaide Festival this year, will be in concert in Brisbane on 20/4/08, the SOH on 21/4/08 and in Melbourne on 23/4/08. Anyway the crowd – or should that be patrons – drank a lot of Chai during interval – which answers my question about how they should be described: clearly they were patrons – they’d have been a crowd if they’d drunk a lot of beer – and had photos taken with the stars. 50+ was not too shy to take a turn in the frame with Bobby.

Like Paul Potts in Britain, Bobby Flynn brought to AI a quality that set him apart. It would either break the mould or ruin his chances of getting to the Opera House. You don't hear a Bobby Flynn song on the radio and whistle it from memory five minutes later - and not just because you don't hear them on the radio at all. He doesn’t sing “tunes” – you know, She loves me yeah yeah yeah; or Sadie the cleaning lady. He expresses complex sentiments in music that nails the emotion. If I had to compare his music with someone well known, I might mention Sting – but he’s actually nothing like Sting, so you’re none the wiser, especially if you don’t know who Sting is. Another group with whom he might be mentioned in the same breath is The Guillemots. But once again, the similarity is tenuous. The range of his voice, its power and the gut wrenching yearning for life that his choice of notes wrings out of the cosmos is as “operatic” as anything I have ever heard – which, I admit, is not really saying all that much, because I’ve only recently started paying attention to opera. But whereas Teddy Tahu Rhodes induces in me a sense of the sublime, Bobby Flynn brought me to tears. I can’t remember feeling so exhilaratingly sad – except, when, at about fifteen, my first girlfriend dumped me. And isn't that what opera's supposed to do?

Having said that, it was not all down to Bobby himself. Omega 3, who shared the stage with him, were breath taking. Two of them in particular delivered riveting performances. The percussionist produced a truly astonishing range of sounds from so many different gadgets that gave up trying to keep track of what he was doing. He was deservedly given a moment of glory towards the end of the show. The stand out performance of Omega 3, however, was the lead guitarist. Even though he was up front with the star, he was, for most of the time, a model of restraint, yet in those moments when his guitar stepped into the lead, the sound he produced and his body language easily matched the zeal of Bobby Flynn’s performance.

The most astounding moment of the show came right at the end when everyone else had left the stage while lead guitarist lead singer engaged each others guitars in a contemplative post script that had the flavour and fragrance of one’s first ever post coital cigarette. If there was a dry in the house it belonged to someone made of stone.

Keyboard, drums, bass guitar and someone pushing buttons in the wings – as well as up the back – all contributed indispensable layers to performance that is probably impossible to capture on disc or video. The discs I bought after the show are a worthy souvenir of the experience, but they are not the experience – not by a long shot. So if you’re interested and you have to opportunity to go to one of these shows, don’t be thinking the discs and a good set of head phones will do.

One final point to make is about the understated stage wear of everyone involved. Far from being a criticism, I am really impressed at how a show that could easily get away with a touch of Demis Roussos is content to look like its wardrobe was supplied by St Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army. The show was about music. That’s what anyone who attended will remember, because it seriously exceeded expectation. Next time Bobby Flynn is in town, guess who’ll be there to hear him.

What do you say...

Visit to G&I 6-7/4/08
Change is imminent. As a result I have taken the opportunity to catch up with a number of people, because it may be some time before I have as much freedom to choose as I have had for the past year. Particularly urgent was a visit to Rockhampton to catch up with a couple of friends, one of whom has a limited time to live. Well don’t we all, you might say. Yes, but this bloke knows that the end is not just some time in the future, but just a few … well, moments, really… away.

Even though I was present for the several months of each of my parents dying, I have never before gone to visit someone, looking the same healthy active person as ever, knowing that I would never see them again. I had seen community service announcements on TV about finding out what you can do/say when you know someone with a terminal illness. I looked up the website. It didn’t help. So I got on a plane and flew north hoping that a certain promise made by one of the great mythologers of ancient times would be fulfilled. I can’t give chapter and verse, or even an approximate quote, but the sense of it is: Don’t be concerned with what to say. The words will be given to you. It didn’t work – for me, anyway - well, if it did it wasn’t until the very last moment of my visit.

Part of the reason I found it difficult to address the issue of a friend’s imminent death may be that Graham and Inge are living each day, focused on that day, attending to the day to day, speaking when necessary of the time ahead – after Graham has died and Inge is getting on with her life. In other words, they are focused on being alive – doing what the living do. Furthermore, Graham has been keeping a journal of their activities since being diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. Selling their country property and their town houses and moving into town close to where Inge works; going to doctors, being given a range of options and calmly choosing the one that makes most sense – to him, to them; winding up his relationships with all and sundry and being very frank about why; paying attention to detail as one would in any enterprise of significance. And what could be more significant than this!

Graham met me at the airport, complaining about how busy it was and how hard it was to find a park. Mmmmmm, I thought. That’s a good sign: business as usual. And so it was. We talked about the trees they’d planted since moving in; the upgrading to the house; the plants that had come from their last half dozen places of abode, strategically placed to fulfil their purpose in their new location; the way Inge’s work place operates and its tentacles into all of the eastern capital cities and its overseas clients; and so on – oh, and the party they’d had the day before for Graham’s 65th birthday. The closest I got to saying anything about his limited remaining time was: Oh, it was your birthday? Well, I wish you many happy returns of the day – and this time I mean it as never before. To which Graham replied with a smile, Ah yes, it’s probably my last. During our conversation I managed to have two glasses of wine which clobbered me like nothing I could have imagined. I took an afternoon nap and resumed conversation with them well into the night, after we’d all slept for six or eight hours. In the morning I said hurray to Inge and was driven to the airport by Graham.

We parted as we always had. You know, with words like You look after yourself and give our love to John. and Yes, I’ll do that, and you take care, and don’t worry about parking tickets. You won’t be around to pay them when they’re due. There! I did it!! At that moment I realised that the right words for the duration of my visit were words that fitted in with the priorities of my hosts. They weren’t dwelling on what I considered – still consider – to be an imminent catastrophe. But if one was going to make any reference to it, maybe humour was the appropriate attitude to have. It might have been risky, but it worked. Graham laughed out loud and waved me off. That’s the last image I will ever have of him – how I will remember him.

And what of Inge, AG? Her life will change, as would anyone’s. But she is a resourceful and imaginative. She will grieve and grow. And we will have a new role as friends of Inge, as distinct from, as it is at present, friends of Graham and Inge. But we will always remember….