There are so many experts discussing the war in Ukraine every week – and so many self-appointed experts – that it’s apparent nobody really knows what’s going to happen. It seems inconceivable that Putin, with his massively superior fire power, could actually lose this war, but with every day of successful resistance the Ukrainians and their allies (ie. just about everyone) dare to hope. As I write, the Russians have just bombed a maternity hospital in Mariupol, so there’s no let-up in the onslaught. In the follow-up, Russian sources have tried every expedient, from flatly denying the bombing took place, (or that Russian forces have ever attacked civilians!), to saying that Ukrainian extremists were holed up in the hospital, and other shades of confusion. It’s the perfect picture of a group of people committed to a policy of outright lying who haven’t had a chance to sit down and agree on the particular lie they need to tell.
We keep hearing that Russian troops are disorganised, exhausted and demoralised. They may, however, be prepared to let their armaments do all the hard work from now on. Mariupol is providing substance for the claim that an increasingly desperate Putin will aim to inflict even more damage on civilians as a way of breaking his opponents’ resolve.
Anyway, that’s what’s been occupying my thoughts for much of the past week, which probably makes me typical of millions. In Lismore they had something more immediate to worry about: first a catastrophic flood, and then a catastrophic visit from Scummo – out of quarantine and hungry for a photo op.
In a week when Premier Perroquet visited Lismore, walked down the streets, and confessed the state government should have done more, with greater expediency, could we expect something similar from the PM? Good guess! Even with an election only two months away, Our Leader couldn’t bring himself to change the habits of a lifetime. His chief concern seemed to be avoiding another debacle such as his post-Hawaii visit to Cobargo during the 2019 bushfires, when churlish locals who had lost everything, refused to shake his hand and smile for the camera.
This time he decided to pay his visits behind closed doors, as he explained, out of “respect for the privacy of those I came to speak to… In these disasters, not everybody wants a camera shoved in their face while they’re trying to share their heart with you.”
Well, at least not a camera that isn’t being operated by Scummo’s own photographer. It wasn’t long before a photo surfaced of him meeting with former footy star, Scott Sattler. His protestations of concern for those “trying to share their heart” with him are only going to enrage those voters who have already seen and heard too much of this stuff. As usual, his actions tell a contrary tale: an inexcusable delay in providing assistance, an attempt to evade responsibility – either by passing it on to the state government or claiming that no-one could have predicted the violence of the downpours. Few will miss the irony that after years of denying and belittling climate change he’s now using it as an excuse for his own insufficiencies.
Could it be the PM has become so accustomed to doing nothing and then spinning a tale of success he’s now accepting his fibs as reality? In Lismore, surrounded by angry locals who have just seen their houses and lives washed away, he was more concerned about his own grievances, namely his frustration that some unruly flood victim might make him look bad by asking awkward questions. Consequently, he devoted much of his energy to avoiding confrontations, only meeting with hand-picked individuals.
While all this has been going on, he’s made a grand announcement about building a $10 billion nuclear submarine base on the east coast of Australia. Isn’t this just what we wanted to hear? Not only is he squandering a further $10 billion that could be put towards some genuinely useful purpose, but he’s making us a nuclear target. It fits in with his new catchphrase, “the arc of autocracy”, which is supposed to make us feel terrified that China is going to invade at any moment. Luckily, we should have a few subs and a nuclear base by 2040. Until then we’ll just have to rely on diplomacy – a noted strong suit with this government.
As wars and floods dominate the headlines, another Sydney Biennale has just opened. The Herald asked for a brief, personalised guide to this year’s show, which I’ve hastened to supply, even though it entailed two days of walking and driving around in the rain to look at exhibits that were still in the process of being installed. Along the way, I renewed acquaintance with this year’s director, José Roca, who made time to accompany me to every venue apart from the MCA and ACE. José comes across one of the most sincere and dedicated Biennale directors in recent decades, and there’s much to like about his environmentally focussed show. Hopefully I’ll be able to return for a more in-depth discussion within a few weeks.
I’m interrupting my Oscars countdown this week to review the new Batman movie, which was more engaging than I’d anticipated. This may be because my expectations of superhero films are generally on the low-to-very-low side, but Matt Reeves’s dark, lengthy tale didn’t leave me cringing or yawning. As such, it must be counted a success.
To mark the passing of Australian icon, Shane Warne, I’m digging up one of my rare pieces of cricket writing, from 1993, when I was living in England, covering the Ashes for The Sydney Review. In tribute to the master leg-spinner, who was a genius with a little red ball in his hand, and a slightly dubious proposition in many other areas, I’m reprinting an account of the First Test in the Ashes of that year, when I was privileged to watch Warnie’s “wonder ball” from the press box. I hope non-cricket fans will forgive this indulgence.
R.I.P. Warnie, we shall not see your like again.