Revolutionaries - A Queensland TL

Guns

The first citizen-initiated referendum was held in July, a few days away from the anniversary of Hanson’s ascension to office. It proposed extensive reforms to state gun laws, formulated in cooperation with the federal government in 1996. Restrictions on personal gun ownership would be lifted; registration requirements would be relaxed; and farmers would be given greater rights to regulate hunting on their properties.

Despite One Nation’s nominally pro-gun stance, Hanson had shied away from directly addressing the issue in office. Initial inquiries had shown widespread community support for retention of present gun laws. Instead, the issue was left to the pro-gun lobby within the community, who quickly gathered the requisite signatures to organise a plebiscite on the issue (with non-compulsory voting).

The ALP, under new leader Terry Mackenroth [1], campaigned vigorously against the referendum, seeing it as an opportunity to show their renewed standing in the electorate. Beazley, unpopular in Queensland, was warned in no uncertain terms not to even comment on the referendum, for fear of provoking a ‘yes’ vote based on anti-federal sentiments. One Nation, by contrast, offered only lukewarm support, with the ‘yes’ case largely supported by extraparliamentary organisations. The remnants of the Coalition were not asked for their opinion one way or the other.

The result was a decisive ‘no’ vote, with 71.08% voting against the proposal. The sheer scale of its defeat was pinned on increasing community concern about Hanson’s radicalism – so soon after the initiation of the ‘One Land’ policy and the reintroduction of capital punishment, it was taken as a sign that the pace of change should be slowed.

Shortly after the defeat of the gun referendum, Hanson’s close advisers decided that One Nation’s popularity would be boosted immeasurably if it took a strong and decisive stance on the third scheduled referendum of 1999...

[1] Jim Elder resigned from Parliament at the 1998 election, due to revelations of electoral rorts – a major factor in Hanson’s gains at that election.

Day 365...

They went to see King Lear at the Roundhouse Theatre. A disgraceful indulgence, Samantha said half-seriously, but one entirely justified by the occasion. One year of One Nation. They bought up box seats and whispered critiques of the actors. It was a ‘modernised’ production, shot through with political allegories and subtle commentary. Mark couldn’t help noticing that the Fool, with red hair and garish white makeup, was a caricature of Pauline. The audience roared when he bumbled on stage, and applauded as he disappeared into the wings at the end of the third act. This was not their crowd.

At intermission, they talked of politics, as always. ‘Mister bloody Mann’s raising all hell over the budget,’ Mark despaired. ‘Here I am, pushing for regional Queensland – the Mount Isa to Brisbane rail link, urban renewal schemes in Toowoomba, all the rest – and he’s going through my budgets with a razor and a hacksaw! He’s just a spiv, Samantha. He’s in it for himself.’
Samantha listened with her head tilted to one side, yawning slightly. She wasn’t particularly interested in the economics agenda. ‘Well, Pauline’s torn. She likes you – you’ve been just marvellous on Aboriginal policy, even if it isn’t your thing, and she wants a better deal for rural Queensland, just like we all do. But she owes Steven everything – literally, really, because he might still call in the debts we owe him. He’s got the party by the short and curlies.’
‘We can’t let him take over the agenda,’ said Mark grimly. ‘He’s big business. He’s corporate. People voted for us – I voted for us – because every other party is shackled to big money and international finance. We can’t simply surrender our greatest advantage now.’
‘Yes, well, I think we’re a little more distinct than that,’ said Samantha. ‘There’s the republic, for one thing. We’re the only party that supports our proud traditions of British democracy, and the only party who’ll fight for a constitutional monarchy. People respect that.’

The campaign for the republic was accelerating, consuming all the political oxygen, prior to the November referendum. The Prime Minister was constantly on the hustings for it; the Opposition Leader, although a direct-electionist, had given the model his qualified support. It was a truism of Australian politics that a referendum can only pass with bipartisan support. In a three-party system, though, matters became more complicated.

‘A republic isn’t exactly opposed to British democracy,’ said Mark, mildly. ‘Not as such. It’s just Westminster in different garb.’
‘Don’t tell me you support that awful idea!’ wailed Samantha. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to vote for it?’
‘Well, I’m undecided, actually. It doesn’t matter that much to how the country is actually run. A republic doesn’t put food on people’s tables. A republic doesn’t create jobs, except for journalists and political hacks. But I don’t think it’ll be the end of the world, either.’
‘It will destroy democracy and allow for an appointed dictatorship of politicians,’ snapped Samantha, lapsing into rote recitation. ‘It will be the Asianisation of Australia, the introduction of Suharto’s regime into our politics. It spits in the face of Britain and mocks the flag. Better Queensland be a separate nation than part of a nation that doesn’t honour its heritage.’
The bells began to ring out for the end of intermission. ‘Oh, I’m sure it might be,’ said Mark, in a conciliatory tone. ‘But then again: it doesn’t really make sense for the Queen to be head of state. Not anymore. I mean, we’re Australians, not British, right?’
Samantha looked deeply shocked at this.

After the play, they walked along the foreshore of the Brisbane River, hand in hand. Mark was so overcome by this that he could barely hear what Samantha was saying. She didn’t mind.
‘...but, in any case, it’s a win-win for us. There’s a whole constituency in Australia, the monarchists, who aren’t represented in Parliament. We pick up their votes – and they’re a majority, after all – and the party becomes stuck on the landscape. We’ll get the Prime Ministership by ten years away, that way, and won’t that be fantastic? Mark?’
‘Hmm?’ He wasn’t listening. She spun him around, to face her.
‘You know, we forget how extraordinary this is,’ she whispered. ‘Eighteen months ago I was an unemployed, depressed, disillusioned poet, and you were in the Labor Party! And now multiculturalism’s gone, land rights are going, you’ve got all your economic schemes and I’m changing Queensland society. I didn’t even know these things were possible. It’s...’

A tear rolled down her cheek. He decided to seize the initiative and kiss her. After some hesitation, she reciprocated.

The Republic and Queensland Separatism

Until July, One Nation’s position on the republican referendum was inconsistent. Most of the party opposed the republic, particularly amongst the party’s elderly base, but the more fervent nationalists in its ranks were strongly in support. It was thought that to focus on the issue too strongly would merely divide the party.

The party’s decision to abandon this ‘small-target’ strategy and become the tribune of the monarchists came after the July budget. Three months after re-election, One Nation was at the peak of its popularity. A July 22 Newspoll put ON at 40% of the primary vote, as against 30% for Labor, and at 55% in the 2PP – a landslide by any measure. Where the 1998 budget had focused on budget cuts (to Aborigines, culture and welfare services), the 1999 budget was profligate in its support for services, particularly in the regions. New hospitals, schools and train stations were funded; a plan for universal dental care under the age of 18 was introduced; and an ambitious plan to introduce school vouchers was trialled. In a sign of things to come, however, the budget appropriation for the Queensland Trust had ballooned outwards to $200 million. The chief architect of the budget, policy adviser Mark Vass, used his influence over Hanson to have Wayne Robinson, a prominent backbencher, appointed Treasurer after the 1999 election; working in concert, the two produced the most interventionist,

Polling cross-tabs showed that One Nation dominated amongst voters:

· over 55
· living outside Brisbane and the Gold Coast
· without tertiary qualifications
· in lower-income bands
· working in primary or secondary industry

In light of the government’s popularity, Hanson decided to turn the republic debate into a referendum on the government’s performance. On August 1, 1999, she announced her intention to Parliament to campaign personally for the ‘no’ case in the last three months before the referendum; One Nation finances would be used for a televised advertising campaign.

The results of this were mixed. The move consolidated Hanson’s popularity amongst her base, and moved many Liberal voters into One Nation’s column. She emerged, once more, as a national figure, openly debating issues of national importance and emerging as a ‘de facto’ opposition leader. It has been speculated that the campaign was a prelude to a move into federal politics at the next election. Certainly, polling at the time indicated that One Nation stood to pick up House of Representatives seats, and probably the balance of power. Her intentions may have extended further than that, however; polling showed that she was the third-most popular choice to become leader of the Coalition with 18% support, after Reith (25%) and re-elected Victorian premier Jeff Kennett (22%). [1]

However, the campaign further served to damage Queensland-Canberra relations. In her attacks on ‘a politicians’ republic’, run from Canberra and insensitive to British traditions, Hanson sought to distance herself from the federal political consensus. Federal politicians further sought to tie the monarchist case to One Nation extremism, tarring the ‘no’ vote with ‘guilt by association’. Hanson openly stated that ‘we will not have a republic imposed on Queensland, we will not be silenced’. The One Nation campaign appealed to ‘Queensland difference’; the sense that Queensland was more morally upright, more in touch with ‘the land’, more prosperous and more ‘Australian’ than any other state. It was this ‘Queensland difference’ that became associated with the ‘no’ case, and played upon the minds of swing voters in other states.

It was in this political environment that talk of secession began to grow in the national media. Hanson famously, in an interview with Kerry O’Brien on 22 September 1999, refused to rule out a future vote on Queensland independence; it was often remarked at the time that if Hanson did not choose to go, the rest of Australia would make her. Singapore’s announcement earlier that month that they would boycott the 2000 Olympics in protest against Hanson’s racist policies further prompted concern over the damage being caused by One Nation to Australia’s international standing.

This sentiment was, if not prompted, then at least encouraged by One Nation itself. Hanson’s staffers wrote letters (under assumed names) to the Courier-Mail declaring that if Australia wished to reject the Crown, they could not count on Queensland’s support; Hanson openly mulled a ‘more independent foreign policy’ for Queensland; and former premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen, a prominent supporter of One Nation, endorsed the idea.

It was hence that on October 8 1999 former Police Minister Bill Feldman introduced the Sovereignty Bill as a private members’ bill into the Queensland Parliament. Feldman’s proposal did not allow for ‘independence’, per se; however, Queensland would retain the monarchy, have independent membership in the Commonwealth of Nations, would regain full powers over income taxation, and be allowed to impose tariffs on external imports (although not from the rest of Australia). For a week, Hanson prevaricated over the bill, which gained national (and limited international) attention; finally, she decided that support would have been too much of a political risk, and the bill did not progress to a second reading. However, Feldman’s proposal over income taxation was eventually adopted by Hanson.

The high point of the clash of federation and state came on October 31, one week before polling day, when Beazley and Hanson held a national debate for the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ case. Hanson (as was her wont) was inarticulate and often resorted to the repetition of talking points where analysis might have proved more effective, but her populist style proved effective against Beazley’s professorial, often convoluted manner. The debate became heated in the second half, with Hanson stating to Beazley ‘you’re a lying, double-talking politician, a politician who just wants more power for himself and his Canberra cronies,’ with Beazley snapping back that ‘anyone who knows how you run Queensland would think twice before levelling allegations of cronyism.’

The referendum, held on November 7, ended in a monarchist victory, with 52% of the popular vote [2]. The ‘yes’ case carried the ACT, NT, NSW and Victoria, but failed dramatically in Queensland, with only 32% support [3]. As it turned out, the debate resolved nothing, but merely increased Hanson’s stature and deepened the growing conflict between the federal and state governments.

This conflict resulted in Hanson’s call, in December 1999, for taxation powers to be returned to the states, and Queensland in particular. This would require federal cooperation, given the vast volume of federal laws on taxation; Beazley flatly refused. Undeterred, Hanson announced her intention to challenge the two Uniform Tax cases in the High Court; this would be added to the growing volume of litigation between federal and state governments, over racial discrimination, Aboriginal policy, the external affairs power, ‘absolute freedom’ of interstate trade, and inconsistency of federal and state laws. Justice Michael Kirby, in a quip that nearly led to his resignation, remarked at the time that Hanson’s litigation ‘combined the best aspects of vilification and vexation’; in response, Angus Lockey privately called him a ‘bloody queer,’ a remark unfortunately leaked to the national press.

[1] Many regional voters, who otherwise would have gone for Bracks, issued a ‘protest vote’ for One Nation (largely a negligible force in Victoria, with only 4.5% support in the state election), and gave their preferences back to the Liberals. Kennett was narrowly re-elected, and began to eye a federal career.
[2] Down from 55% in OTL, a result of bipartisan support, a strong case by Beazley, and the association of ‘no’ with Hanson.
[3] As opposed to 37% in OTL, evidence of Hanson’s popularity.
 
A well done thing, even if it does concern the Oxleymoron getting power in Queensland. Scary!
 
OK, announcement time: I go back to university on Tuesday, so updates are going to slooooow right down. Luckily, the next update will be much longer than usual, which is one of the reasons why this update is much shorter than usual. But I'm not going to be writing six thousand words a day, anymore; I'll be lucky if I get that a week.

But, hey, you've all been good with your support so far, so I hope you'll continue to read a less-frequently-updated TL. Worth a shot, right?

‘One Land’: Aboriginal Affairs Under Pauline Hanson

The Department of Aboriginal Affairs had been abolished by executive edict in the first few days of the Hanson premiership. The implementation of ‘One Land’ was hence largely carried out by the Premier’s Department; given Hanson’s relative disinterest in Aboriginal policy, this meant that policy was, in practice, the responsibility of her chief of staff, Samantha Calden, and her policy adviser, Mark Vass.

The ‘Our Land’ policy was implemented through a series of Acts, focusing on different aspects of the policy. The first Act, the most dramatic and odious, was the Integration Act. This Act gave the government power to identify ‘unsustainable communities’ and to ‘rezone land in the interests of community cohesion’, to be determined by the responsible minister (the Premier). This gave Hanson carte blanche to relocate entire populations from remote Aboriginal settlements.

The protests against this measure were not limited to urban residents. A surprising number of rural voters, even former One Nation supporters, spoke out against the policy; it was identified as an attempt to make native title effectively worthless by removing Aboriginal rights of occupancy. Many communities which depended on Aboriginal labour lost their livelihoods. There were those, however, who supported the policy; not only rural voters who disliked the overcrowded, desperately poor Aboriginal settlements, but urban conservatives who saw the job-poor, isolated settlements as a form of de facto apartheid. The policy was hailed as a brutal but ultimately necessary way of integrating Aborigines into the economic mainstream.

The policy did not lead to ‘integration’ – this was scarcely its intent, which was to extinguish continuity of occupancy of the land. Uprooted Aborigines, for the duration of the policy, formed an urban underclass in provincial centres Cairns, Rockhampton, and Townsville. The loss of livelihoods and the psychological trauma involved in forced relocation led many to crime; the Discretionary Powers Act allowed police much wider scope in arrests and charges; and hence the primary result of the policy was the needless imprisonment of hundreds of Aborigines, and the destruction of many northern communities. Subsidised wages and investment in community projects through the Trust were a very poor substitute for an influx of thousands of untrained, dispossessed, unemployed persons in poor health into Queensland communities.

The second Act, introduced by Community Services Minister Heather Hill, was the Northern Queensland (Protection of Children and Young People) Act 1999. This Act was intended to place restrictions upon the activities and personal freedoms of Aboriginal people. The Community Services Minister was given power to create ‘drink-free zones’ in geographically restricted areas; this power was obviously used to target areas with significant Aboriginal populations, even restricted to single streets. The powers of the Department of Community Services to remove children thought at risk of abuse or endangerment were significantly expanded, with the Minister given veto powers to any administrative decision made. The ‘drink-free zones’ merely created a black market, driving up alcohol prices and greatly angering whites in areas with significant Aboriginal populations. The DOCS powers were never used to any great degree, perhaps evidence of a silent revolt by community workers.

The final Act was the most far-reaching. The One Queensland (Appropriation of Lands) Act violated in blatant violation of the Mabo case, appropriating all ‘native title’ land as Crown freehold and allowing the Minister for Lands to sell the land at ‘prices thought appropriate’. Compensation would be made for appropriated lands, on terms determined by the Department of Lands, not subject to appeal. It was, effectively, the appropriation of all native title lands in Queensland by the State. This Act was challenged on the grounds of violation of the Racial Discrimination Act 1998, the Mabo decision, and s51(xxxi) of the Constitution, which grants eminent domain powers to the Commonwealth; court proceedings had not, however, concluded prior to the Act’s repeal.

The One Queensland Act, however, merely formalised what the Integration Act had put in place: the dispossession

The effects of these Acts were devastating...

Days 428 to 453...

At seven in the morning, the phone screeched. Mark stumbled out of his bedroom, pulling his left arm through his right sleeve. Samantha didn’t even bother to get up, placing the pillow over her face to block out the noise.

Mark finally reached the phone. He pulled up the receiver with clumsy fingers.

‘H-hello? Mark Vass, director of—‘
‘Yeah, I know who you are, Mark. It’s Paul Alanson, here. Wonder if you might want to go for a trip.’

Mark struggled to fix his shirt. He knew Alanson, from their days as advisers to Keating. Mark had lost an entire lifetime’s worth of friends through his association with One Nation. Even family members barely talked to him anymore, such was his heresy. His feud with Alanson, an adviser on Aboriginal affairs and a native title lawyer, was one of the bitterest separations of all. They’d screamed and shouted their way through a Sydney harbourside restaurant; it ended when Mark, taller than Alanson, had pushed him against a wall and, pointing dramatically, accused him of treachery to his country and his people. It was acrimonious.

‘I thought you weren’t talking to me anymore,’ said Mark, blearily.
‘I wasn’t. Figured this was the only way I could get anything done in this bloody state anymore, given that you pull all the strings these days. I ask again: you want to go for a trip?’
‘A-a trip? Where?’
‘Cape York, mate. My country. Via Townsville, Cooktown, and wherever we stop off on the way. Courtesy of those bloody highways you keep driving through national parks.’
‘Mr Alanson,’ said Mark testily, ‘I’m a senior official in the State government. I can’t go off and just drive my way from here to Cape York because a man who thinks I’m a fascist wants a road trip. You may not have a job anymore, but I do, and I intend to complete it.’
‘Take leave. You’ve bloody well earned it; Hanson only jiggles when you pull her strings, and I know you don’t take holidays like you should. You know what I want you to see. Your policies, in action. Go on. You’re curious, right?’
‘No.’ With that, Mark hung up.

Samantha walked in from the bedroom, brushing dust from her eyes. ‘Who was that?’
Mark rolled his eyes. ‘I used to work with him. Some party hack.’

In the office, they worked on ‘One Land’, five months after the first implementation had begun. A community in the far north, Lockhart River, were refusing to relocate; the roads into the community had been barricaded, and there were rumours of gun-toting vigilantes ready to shoot surveyors on sight. The Wik people were refusing to accept the appropriation of their lands, held in conjunction with pastoral leases; they were debating legal action, although the state Attorney-General’s department was already working well beyond capacity. There was talk of Beazley, of course; the federal government used legislation to block Hanson’s policies at every turn, requiring a constant tit-for-tat legislative battle. States simply weren’t the most effective means of legislating for Aboriginal policy; any measure they took had to be so innocuous, or else so far-reaching (as to extend to everyone, not just Aborigines), that they felt penned in from every direction. To work in One Nation’s offices was to be in a constant state of siege.

Mark gave orders, and ran budgetary simulations, and plotted out the best ways to slip through the loopholes and oversights of the Constitution. He tried, in between the overwhelming preoccupation with ‘the social stuff’ (Aborigines and the republic and New Nationalism...), to bring attention back to his vast capital works schemes: loans of tens of millions for sustaining a local manufacturing industry, extensive subsidies for TAFE and training, new schools all across the State...

But these were no longer ‘his people’. His chosen staffers, handpicked from those who seemed open to new ideas, or else clinging to the best of the old ones. Hanson’s majority had led to a flood of new ideologues into the public service, the most prominent of whom, of course, was Steven Mann. These people were contemptuous of government. They came from the inner suburbs, even wealthy backgrounds; they didn’t care about inequality of services, or the need to provide ‘active welfare’ based around job creation, or even public policy. They wanted to use government as a sword, not a shield: a means of fighting their own private ideological wars. They were obsessed with ‘the culture stuff’ (as Mark thought of it), and would happily leave the state to run itself while they focused on the minutiae of population relocation. They weren’t bureaucrats, they were culture warriors.

Mark, sitting alone at a cafeteria table, sucking chocolate milk through a straw, watched five of his staffers laughing at a nearby table. They were the rural petit bourgeoisie; smart, happy, successful kids, none over 30, who would happily spend the rest of their lives on academic sinecures, writing studies no one ever read confirming tenets of the faith. Mark had been able to pretend that this party was, ultimately, for people like him: disillusioned socialists who wanted to use government to help the working class, fighting issues like poverty and inequality that the major parties had abandoned. It was conservatism, yes, but conserving the right things – the fair go, mateship, egalitarianism in life as well as spirit.

But he suspected the party was becoming one for people like them: smug, arrogant kids with bitter hearts and cancerous minds. It was an uncomfortable thought, and one he tried to blot out. But everything looked different, after he considered that perhaps these were not his people after all.

That night, Mark found Paul’s phone number in Brisbane from a government directory. He dialled.

‘Yeah, Paul Alanson here?’
‘Mr Alanson. It’s Mark Vass.’
‘Ah, Mark. Reconsidered my offer?’
‘Yes. I have to know.’
‘Well, sure you do, but have to know what, in particular?’
‘I want to see my roads. I want to see my hospitals. I want to see the industries I’ve created, the apprentices who owe their jobs to me. I want to prove to you that this was all worth it.’
Paul didn’t bother to call Mark on the obvious fallacy: that he wasn’t trying to prove it to him, he was trying to prove it to himself.
 
OK, announcement time: I go back to university on Tuesday, so updates are going to slooooow right down. Luckily, the next update will be much longer than usual, which is one of the reasons why this update is much shorter than usual. But I'm not going to be writing six thousand words a day, anymore; I'll be lucky if I get that a week.

But, hey, you've all been good with your support so far, so I hope you'll continue to read a less-frequently-updated TL. Worth a shot, right?

Thats what the subscribed thread tool is for, awesome update and good luck with uni ;)
 
Can you use some of this work for your assesments?

Well, that's actually what sparked the whole TL! We were studying the Kartinyeri case, which held that you could make laws for the benefit or detriment of Aborigines, and I thought of the disastrous political consequences (although perhaps more humanitarian social consequences) if the case had been decided the other way.

This whole thing is effectively my way of testing theories I have on constitutional law and federalism: the whole racial discrimination thing is my way of analysing Koowarta and Tasmanian Dams. This has all been very useful to me.
 
OK, I've decided to upload the planned Super Entry as a series of entries, instead. Which is good, because if I'd gone as I originally planned this thread would probably have ended up on page 17 by the time I was done.

‘Why?’ asked Samantha.
Mark shrugged. ‘I want to take stock,’ he said. ‘We’ve been in power for fourteen months; I want to know how much of an effect we’re having.’
‘Then take a plane,’ she insisted. ‘Or one of your trains. Don’t spend a month on a road trip with some black agitator. He’s scum, Mark; just a figurehead for the Aboriginal grievance industry. He’s just using you to get at the government.’
Mark squirmed. She seemed to be veering very close to racial epithets. ‘I need a break,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent the last few years in One Nation’s bubble. I need fresh air. Figuratively.’
Samantha sighed. ‘I suppose it could be good for you,’ she said, doubtfully. ‘You’ve been a bit burnt-out lately. It could do you a world of good, I guess, seeing how we’re changing Queensland. Once you’re back, you might even care about ‘the social stuff’ more.’
Mark dumped the last pair of jeans into a suitcase. He flicked through his wallet. A few hundred dollars in savings, enough to pay for a bed every night. He kissed her on the cheek.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ he whispered.

Alanson picked him up from outside Mark’s apartment, in a rented four-wheel drive. It was a bright day for August; not a cloud in the sky. Mark threw his suitcase into the boot and climbed up to the passengers’ seat. Alanson grinned at him.
‘All set?’ he asked. In response, Mark rolled out a map, carefully traced over with red ink.
‘This is a basic itinerary,’ he said. ‘For balance. We see your pet causes – the northern cities, the settlements, and maybe a rainforest or two. And we see my ideas – Ipswich, Gladstone, some of the rural centres—‘
Alanson rolled his eyes. ‘Nah, mate. We’re going to Chinatown.’

Brisbane’s Chinatown was in Fortitude Valley, ground zero of opposition to Hanson. A trendy, leafy suburb, it was home to artists, professionals, the gay community and immigrants. Every wall was plastered with ‘Say No To Racism’, and every shop sold Hanson voodoo dolls. These were the kind of people who’d driven Mark away from Labor – smug, inner-city lefties more concerned with saving the rainforests than actually running the country. They’d filled up government offices, putting rainforest pictures over income graphs and cozying up to leaders who should have known better. He’d wanted to change the world, they’d wanted to change people.

They reached where Brisbane’s Chinatown had once been. The Chinese population had emigrated from the state in droves, once Hanson reached power. New Nationalism had placed planning restrictions on the community, with entrenched discrimination forcing a diaspora within the city. The Planning Minister had ordered the removal of Chinese architecture, as ‘not reflecting Australian cultural unity’, within the first few days in office. The announcement had been all but buried in the flood of activity – but it had destroyed Chinatown, decimating tourism and removing what had once made it unique.

What was once a thriving pedestrian mall was now a suburban street. Roofs and arches had been removed, and replaced by glassy, shiny buildings. Cars zoomed past at 80 km/h. It was a street, like any other street, one in a featureless landscape stretching from the sea to the Great Dividing Range.

Alanson found a place to park (there was no shade, anywhere along the street), and hopped down. He waved his arm, to indicate the scar where the gateway had once been. ‘This was Chinatown,’ he said. ‘A thriving tourist hub. A centre for the local community. An integrated suburb, whatever your mad fascist friends may say – there were more white tourists here than actual Chinese residents. It was beautiful because it was unique. We could draw upon the traditions of the whole world for our very own city. And now here it is. Anywhere, Australia.’
‘It was a slum,’ Mark replied. ‘A ghetto by any other name. People spat on the streets. Street signs weren’t even in English. And the standard of living was awful.’ He gestured in another direction. ‘There’s a new school down the street, with thousands invested for student retention. We can transform a barely literate, non-integrated generation into prosperous, intelligent Australians in a few years. Labor would never have done that. We will.’
‘Oh, again with the ‘true equality’ line,’ Alanson groaned. ‘You know the reason that school exists? It’s not because One Nation is the ‘party of the lower classes’. It’s because there’s no one smart enough in headquarters to say ‘no’ to you when you go off on your rages. This area was prosperous because it was unique.’

Alanson walked up to a street sign. Chinese characters had been hastily, badly whited out. By executive edict, every sign in Queensland had to be in English, only. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t that make you quail just a little bit? That the culture of an entire suburb can just be wiped out by ignorant rednecks from Bundaberg?’
‘No,’ snapped Mark. ‘Labor may be content stacking whole suburbs as rotten boroughs, but I’m not. You may wish these people had been left in squalor – oh, I’m sorry, ‘cultural tradition’ – but the fact is that a One Nation government has done more to integrate these people into society, and to provide them with basic services, than any other government.’
Alanson sighed. ‘OK. Next stop, then.’

They drove north, drawing out of Brisbane by inches, with the Glasshouse Mountains drifting past as they passed through the Sunshine Coast. Neither talked much, except intermittent chatter about what they saw on the road. They’d decided not to see Ipswich – it was in the wrong direction, and Alanson flatly refused to go closer to Hanson’s territory than was necessary. Instead, they’d wind their way up the coast, through Gympie, Gladstone, Rockhampton, and then the arduous trek up to the north.

‘Doesn’t make much sense,’ said Alanson, after a long pause.
‘Hmm? What?’
‘There’s a lot of anti-tax whackos in One Nation. Hanson doesn’t beat that drum anymore, but she was a Liberal candidate, remember; a small businesswoman, the most conservative sector of the party. They’re protectionists, sure, but so’s Pat Buchanan, over in America, and he hates any government. So what makes them the party for a democratic socialist?’
‘They don’t take corporate money,’ said Mark. ‘They’re not held in lockstep to pollsters or electoral pragmatists. They’re not a party of machine hacks. A lot of the candidates – more than any other party – are working people, people from below the poverty line, even. They’re genuinely a party of the people, not just pretending to be at election time. If any party’s going to stand up for working people, it’ll be them.’
Alanson smiled, patronisingly. ‘Working people. These aren’t the working people you read about in Dissent or Chifley biographies, Mark. They’re not in this to uplift the vast masses or reshape the economy. They’re in this because they’re nasty, hate-filled people who want to take money away from the groups they loathe – Asians, cultural elites, big corporations and my people.’
‘Pull over here,’ Mark snapped.

They emerged into a near-empty Noosa street. It was noon, the sun was high, the shops were open, and yet...

‘No tourists,’ said Alanson, deadpan. ‘They’re probably all in Cronulla. Or Tasmania. I’m sure there are lots of states where Hanson isn’t premier.’
‘It’s winter,’ replied Mark. ‘There are never tourists in winter. Come on, we’ll find a shop, I’ll show you we’ve done.’

They went to a hardware store, a cavernous complex that echoed inside. They were instantly accosted by half a dozen sales assistants – all, Mark noted smugly, with ‘trainee’ written on their badges.

‘I was here two years ago,’ whispered Mark to Alanson, once the trainees had dispersed. ‘It was a tiny, poky place, and the manager was nearly out of business. Now he can afford to hire trainees, who’ll go on to run stores of their own, and create further employment. In any other state, this would be a chain brand. But this place is independent, it’s thriving, and it’s massive. All thanks to Pauline Hanson and the Queensland Trust.’
Alanson sighed. ‘The Trust. It’s a League of Rights idea – you know that, right? They came up with it because they thought Jews ran international finance.’
Mark shrugged. ‘Good ideas come from bad people. And vice versa.’
‘But more often you can judge an idea by the quality of the people who came up with it. It’s a rort, a scam, a house of cards. You’re just taking money from taxpayers and giving it to your supporters. They call that embezzlement in other states – what do you call it here?’
‘The process is extensively reviewed,’ snapped Mark. Their increasingly heated argument was drawing stares from around the store. ‘It’s fair, it’s clean, and it’s the economic engine of this whole bloody state! We’re not going to help the Aborigines with a handout – but by giving them finance they need to start their own businesses, we might.’
Alanson blew air through his teeth. ‘OK. I showed you the destruction of a suburb. You showed me a hardware store. Call it nil-all.’

They ate a late lunch in a Gympie cafe. Mark talked about everyone – the waitresses, the other patrons, people seen on the streets. Alanson, barely listening, munched on a tuna sandwich.

‘You know what we saw on the way into town?’ Mark demanded. ‘Farms. The most prosperous and secure farms in Australia.’
‘Only thanks to porkbarrelling,’ Alanson mumbled through a mouthful of dead fish. ‘You subsidise them until the pips squeak.’
‘That’s what government’s meant to do!’ said Mark, in a voice that suggested revelation. ‘Create an equal playing field. Allow them to compete with farmers in Vietnam and Africa and the European Union. We can create entire industries, if we put our minds to it.’
‘And how do you get the funds for that, hmm?’ asked Alanson. ‘I’ll tell you. You take it from my people. You’re not giving money to the poor – you’re subsidising an already-privileged group in society.’
Mark rolled his eyes. ‘The people round here have never had a government represent them. Not even Joh – he was just content to play on their fears, building capital-works projects to assuage them but never making the proper investments. You think these people are wealthy?
‘Next to the northern settlements they’re riding gold tractors,’ Alanson snapped. ‘Our support services, gone. Youth suicide prevention, gone. Grants for poverty reduction programs, gone – in the first few days of your government. And you’re giving it away as dairy subsidies?’
‘Aborigines will be given assistance based on need,’ said Mark automatically. It was another rote answer. ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’
Alanson snorted. ‘You don’t believe that. Tell me you don’t believe that. You seriously think One Nation took funds from Aborigines – because they were overprivileged? Go on. Defend that idea.’
Mark simply glared. He sipped his coffee and threw a $5 note at the checkout.

They moved on, for endless hours of travel. Queensland stretched out, north and south and west, for hundreds of kilometres in every direction. Cities faded over the horizon, even towns receded, until there was nothing but sugar cane and empty fields off to both sides of the highway. There still wasn’t a trace of rain. The deep blue sky seemed impossibly broad, contrasting sharply against grey grass and vivid green crops.

They spoke, in clipped, abrupt sentences, about the past. Alanson grinned about the time Kevin Rudd, a mandarin under Wayne Goss, had thrown a dinner plate at Mark’s head. It was 3 AM in the morning, after ten hours of budget negotiations, and Mark was solidly, adamantly refusing to budge on education funding. A scuffle had broken out, foul words exchanged, and the cutlery had made its final journey.

‘Reminds me of our last meeting,’ said Alanson. ‘Mate, you have a real problem dealing with people.’
Mark shrugged. ‘I’m passionate,’ he replied. ‘About my job. About my country.’
‘Tightly-wound, you mean. So, how does Calden put up with you?’
Mark looked askance at him. ‘It’s meant to be a private relationship.’
‘Read it in The Oz. So, Mark Vass finally finds true love, eh? How’d you manage it?’
‘She’s smart. She’s professional. She’s beautiful.’
‘She’s been involved in any two-bit far-right operation in Queensland for the last fifteen years, I know that much. I know most of that stuff goes over your head, Mark, but...Jesus, you don’t agree with her on all that, do you?’
Mark shrugged again, diffidently. ‘Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. The Republic and all that, no; patriotism and New Nationalism, sure, I agree with her sometimes.’
‘Mate, you can’t pick and choose from that kinda stuff. One leads on to the other. She’s a patriot because she’s a racist because she’s a radical conservative. It all comes from that hatred for change.’
‘Paul?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t ever try to pretend you know Samantha or know anything about her. Change the subject or I’m walking home.’
Alanson slapped his hands on the wheel. ‘Sure. But we’re 300 km from Brisbane. I’d suggest you hitch a lift.’

It was night by the time they arrived in Gladstone. They’d driven over 500 km in the day, and yet had barely crawled their way up the state coast. The vastness of Hanson’s domain impressed itself on them.

As they drove into the city, they heard police sirens everywhere they went. Homeless, jobless Aboriginal youths sat and milled on street corners. Police cars seemed to shine out of the traffic, with beat cops shouting orders like drill sergeants. Their hotel, as cheap as they could afford, was a dingy, badly-lit heap of concrete and metal near the harbour. They lay on their beds and stayed awake, while the shouting and the sirens from outside grew louder as the night wore on.

‘Poor blacks begging for change, police on every corner and constant conflict between the two,’ Alanson whispered in the darkness. ‘This is Pauline’s Queensland, Mark, and don’t ever think this isn’t the way she wants it.’
 
Day 430...

‘Five years ago, Gladstone was a mess. Globalisation had destroyed the city’s industrial base. Men who’d spent their entire lives on the docks or in the refineries were forced onto the streets. It had the worst schools, the worst hospitals, and the worst job prospects in the entire state. Five years later...here we are.’

Mark and Alanson stood in the docks, watching the workings of the port. Cranes and forklifts screamed in the early morning air; tonnes of iron and steel and aluminium were dragged into the heavy tankers in the harbour, and smoke belched into the air. Workers scurried over every surface.

‘Now, One Nation’s main priority is employment.’ Mark shouted to be heard, over the industrial roar. ‘No other government in Australia has dedicated itself to fighting unemployment like we have. The second stage of the Hand Up program creates subsidised wages, not just apprenticeships; entire industries are only sustainable because of government investment.’

They walked for miles past warehouses and through industrial districts. Rust had been sheared off corrugated surfaces; old equipment had been melted down, and shining new devices installed; entire industries had sprung up in months.

‘We have an industrial development program equalled by no other state,’ said Mark. ‘We’re not bound to unions or businesses – we’re prepared to invest in anything necessary to attract capital. But this,’ he tapped on an iron fence, ‘is all Australian-owned. All of it. The jobs can’t be outsourced, because the companies are rooted here...

They caught a bus into the deeper city. Mark pointed out the bustling shops, the new infrastructure (parks, public housing, swimming pools!), and new hospitals springing to life. They ended up in Spinnaker Park, from where the whole scope of the city foreshore could be seen. A solid row of smokestacks created a permanent overhang of cloud, even at eight in the morning; the spidery, clockwork foundries and factories followed the sweep of the coast, vanishing into forests around the bay. Mark pointed out landmarks.

‘A new coal processing plant, a hub for the entire state’s industry, right over there,’ he said. ‘A new TAFE institute on, appropriately, Hanson Road. A new power station in the southern suburbs, enough to light up the entire state. And a manufacturing base second to none in Australia.’

‘When Ben Chifley was talking about the light on the hill,’ Mark continued, oddly wistful, ‘he wasn’t talking about native title. He wasn’t talking about gay rights or women’s rights or animal rights or any of the other chardonnay stuff. He was talking about full employment. He was talking about Australian resources in Australian hands. He was talking about the provision of community services, by the community – the state as carer, not patriarch. He was talking about this city.’
They paused, savouring the sight of this industrial wasteland, as smog was blown about by the breeze.
‘OK,’ said Alanson, after some thought. ‘Credit where credit’s due. I’m sure that some Indigenous Australians who didn’t previously have work now do, thanks to this. I’m sure you’ve fought off the American and Japanese companies – a nice idea, if not based in likeable foundations. It’s a pretty good city. A Labor city. And if the whole state were like this, I might even vote for you.’
‘It will be,’ said Mark happily. ‘Just give me time. In a few years, we’ll have full employment, an economy bigger than Victoria, and infrastructure better than anywhere else in the federation. Just give me time.’

An hour later they were driving slowly through a Rockhampton suburb, one that may not even have existed before Hanson. Decaying public housing lined every street. Every gutter was filled with trash. Aborigines and whites sprawled against fences, watching the 4WD with disinterested eyes. Alanson pulled up outside a pawn shop and gestured Mark out.

‘Are you kidding?’ asked Mark. ‘If we park here, they’ll smash the windows on the car!’
‘Precisely,’ said Alanson, dryly. ‘Best we get a balanced picture.’

This was one area the Trust hadn’t invested in. Homelessness was endemic. Men and women slept in rags and shredded newspapers under awnings. The sun was already rising – it was going to be a hot day, and Mark winced to see the sweat on people’s faces, the stink rising from their clothes.

‘I don’t see what you can blame this on Hanson for,’ he said, peevishly. ‘This is the result of globalisation. Of a poor economic climate. Of, dare I say it, immigration.’
‘Nonsense.’ Alanson ducked down next to an Indigenous man, sleeping rough on the street. ‘Where you from, bro?’
‘North,’ gurgled the man. His eyes were bloodshot – he looked as if he’d barely slept, perhaps for weeks. ‘Rainforest country. Up near the tip.’
Alanson whistled appreciatively. ‘Long way to go, mate. Why so far down here?’
‘Looking for work. Looking for housing. That bitch Pauline took my house, took my children, and put me on the street.’ The man tried to make an expansive gesture, but simply lost his balance. ‘It’s tough living, mate. Could you—‘
Alanson emptied his pockets; coins rained down around the man. ‘Thanks, bro.’

Alanson turned back towards Mark, who winced. ‘He probably wasn’t living much better up north. They live in squalor up there.’
‘Because of the neglect of governments. Because of misguided political correctness, true, but also because there’s no votes in Aboriginal uplift. Face it: if a tenth of what you’re blowing on turning Gladstone into Shanghai were spent on Aboriginal health issues, we could go some way to closing the gap. But they chose not to.’
Alanson walked along, making expressive hand gestures; Mark followed. ‘You cut Aboriginal-specific health funding, so our work suffers because of treatable illness. You cut Aboriginal-specific employment programs, so we lose our jobs. You force us out of our homes, so we live on the streets.’
‘We’ve expanded health and employment programs throughout the entire population,’ retorted Mark. ‘A rising tide lifts all boats.’
‘Not if we’re shipwrecked on the ocean floor, mate. Your friends may like to knock affirmative action, but those programs were the only things preventing a medical disaster. And it’s not just Indigenous Aussies, either; poor whites have taken the short end of the stick, too.’
‘That’s not true!’ replied Mark, angrily. ‘We’ve been a better government for—‘
‘For farmers, maybe. For industrial workers. But what you give with one hand, you take away with the other, through mandatory sentencing. You’re the only One Nation hack I’ve met who doesn’t talk up mandatory sentencing as one of your government’s accomplishments. Perhaps it’s because you’re a bit smarter than they are.’

As they walked through the ragged suburb, past shantytowns of fibro panels and newspaper roofs, they talked to some of the residents, black and white. Minor crimes were converted to prison terms, often in the new maximum-security jail out at Longreach. They were cut off from society for months, losing jobs, losing opportunities, and finally thrown back onto the street. Racial discrimination laws were never enforced. Trust loans were made to established businessmen or farmers, not people who needed financial assistance. Sure, there were jobs going down south – Gladstone, Ipswich, the Fraser Coast – but what they needed now was healthcare and financial assistance, and both had been cut.

An émigré from Zambia, over a disposable cup of water in a decrepit public house, told Alanson and Mark the story. He’d come fleeing famine, poverty and political repression; he’d worked as a labourer, at first, and started to move up the social ladder. Hanson had given carte blanche for him to be sacked, simply for his race; she had cut money from public housing, simply because her rural constituency couldn’t stand those who lived in inner-city poverty; she’d forced him to move out of Brisbane, simply because he lived in an area with too high an immigrant quota (the quotas were gone now, but he couldn’t move back; it was too far to travel, and he was too sick); and finally, he’d been convicted of a petty theft, and locked away for three months. When he returned, it was to the street. He was sick, no employer would hire him (in Hanson’s Australia, such petty racism was implicitly sanctioned, even if hidden in other guises), and the community care he needed had been slashed to ribbons by Heather Hill. The police constantly harassed him – to be black, poor and dependent on public housing was practically an offence in itself.

They spent three hours in Rockhampton, talking to strangers, conferring, and arguing. Alanson finally made the blunt point: ‘If you’re a farmer, you’re doing wonderfully under Hanson. If you’re old and conservative, you’re doing well. If you live in a coal-mining or a steel-smelting town, you’re doing well. But if you’re poor, or non-white, or if you live in urban squalor, or if your problems are bigger than a training program and a business grant will solve, Hanson has been a nightmare for you. She’s not interested in these people. They’ll never vote for her, and so she’ll never care for them.’
‘We increased funding for schools and hospitals,’ Mark mumbled. It was his stock retort, one he played when rational argument failed him.
Alanson snorted. ‘In the sticks. In Cunnamulla. In Emerald. You give it to farmers and small businessmen, but my people won’t see a cent of that money. The urban poor won’t be helped by it. The people most in need are the people most ignored.’

As they left the Rockhampton suburbs, the heat broke, and rain began to fall in torrents. Mark saw the homeless sleepers scatter for safety as it bucketed down.

From there, they moved inland, into the great western interior. Sugarcane fields gave way to sheep paddocks and vast sheafs of waving wheat, slowly twisting in the wind. Even the wheat gave way, eventually, to barren country. Kangaroos hopped along the roads, trying vainly to keep up to the car, which sped along at a constant 100 km/h. Alanson grew less talkative, more intent on the winding road. They moved along newly paved highways – a major initiative of the Hanson government, but Mark wasn’t in the mood to mention it.

They ate meat pies with greasy peas in tiny towns, barely flyspecks on the map. They relieved themselves by the roadside and seemed to swear more frequently. Hour after hour slowly wore on. The presence of time seemed, strangely, to ache.

‘They were never any better off before Hanson,’ Mark said, finally. It was the first time he’d spoken about Rockhampton since leaving. ‘There are wider forces at work. Economic rationalism. The Asian economies. Racism existed before us.’
Alanson tapped his fingers on the dashboard – a sign of irritation. ‘Every government since Holt federally, and Ahern here, has denounced racism, except you. Every government has tried to do something to fix the lot of the Aboriginal people and the migrant population, except you. In the strictest sense, though, you’re a bit right. It’s a...’

Alanson struggled for words. ‘Vibe. That’s a good enough word. You were, what, 14 when Whitlam came in? You’d have been old enough to notice that the whole mood of the country seemed to change. Sure, some people became more paranoid, more isolated – even more racist, a few of them, I guess – but when you change the government, you change the country. Even on the state level, Goss changed a lot without doing anything – just by being different.’

‘You’re the most radical government since Whitlam on any level. You’ve made a lot of things that used to be anathema, simply off the board – opposing land rights, opposing immigrants, opposing Asia – political currency. You shape the terms in which people are allowed to think. So people do feel more encouraged to be racist, or cruel, or mean-spirited, because that’s what the government thinks.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ snapped Mark. ‘Just absolute rot. People voted for Hanson because they felt those things – not the other way round. You can’t blame Hanson for people opposing your pet causes.’
Pet causes.’ The anger could be heard in his voice. His features twitched. ‘This is the plight of my people. This is the dispossession of my lands and the exile of my brothers. You’ve shrunk, Mark, since you began to work for them.’

They stayed the night in Jericho, a town of 300. A six hour drive from Rockhampton, 1000 kilometres from Brisbane. From the top floor of the pub, flat and barren fields stretched off forever, towards a dark horizon. What cars there were on the streets were rusted and aged. The local newspaper was a trivial four-page sheet, focused on local sports and an unsealed pothole on the main (only) street. The yellowing Courier-Mail in the pub was a week old, and used as a coaster. Drinking four-X at the bar, Mark got a sense of the end of the world.
 
Yeah, great chapter.
I sorta sorry for Mark Vass actually, poor little socialist.

I'm just feeling irritated by his complete lack of imagination. His boss and his girlfriend are disenfrancising huge numbers of Australian citizens because of the colour of their skin and he's totally oblivious.
 
I'm just feeling irritated by his complete lack of imagination. His boss and his girlfriend are disenfrancising huge numbers of Australian citizens because of the colour of their skin and he's totally oblivious.

He's not oblivious; he's Hanson's policy director, after all. He knows what's going on, even if not the scale of it. He just justifies it, or else is apathetic to it. He can't really plead ignorance; he's been at the centre of implementing every policy, while justifying it in terms of his grand economic schemes.
 
Hmm, BlackMage, are you trying to create a tragic hero out of Mark Vass, like how you created that tragic hero in Advance Australia? I wonder if eventually Mark rethinks being in One Nation to the extent where he has a change of heart?

Otherwise, this is very good! :D
 
Hmm, BlackMage, are you trying to create a tragic hero out of Mark Vass, like how you created that tragic hero in Advance Australia? I wonder if eventually Mark rethinks being in One Nation to the extent where he has a change of heart?

Otherwise, this is very good! :D

I was going to do that, but, as you said, I've already done that. (I have very few themes I write about -- far-right politics, Australia, radicalism, political operatives giving long speeches -- so I try to at least keep the narratives distinct). No, I've got very different things in mind for dear Mark...
 
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