Category Archives: Not My Review

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Book review: The Latham Diaries, ten years on

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Natalie Mast, University of Western Australia

In September 2005, Melbourne University Press (MUP) published former Labor opposition leader Mark Latham’s personal diaries, covering the 11-year period he served in parliament. The book turned Latham, who resigned as leader and from parliament in January that year, into a pariah in the ALP’s eyes.

In the book, Latham does not hold back on his opinions of caucus colleagues, factional leaders, union heavyweights, business elites and journalists. The book caused a sensation. It not only included Latham’s own views, but recounted comments from other Labor caucus members and party figures, many of which were scathing.

Sales-wise, The Latham Diaries was a huge success. MUP ordered a second print run before the book had even been released.

I first read the book in 2005. The book does contain vitriolic insults about political figures of the day. But what struck me then and has remained with me was that The Latham Diaries provided an excellent discussion of the parliamentary Labor Party in the wilderness years post-Paul Keating.

Given that the book was released so soon after Latham quit parliament, I decided a re-reading was warranted in order to determine how well the book had aged and if there were larger lessons that could be taken from it a decade on.

An outsider within caucus

From the time he was a backbencher in the Keating government through to his stint as leader, entries in the book often end with Latham declaring himself the outsider. Latham views himself as a lone operator who often finds only Keating and Gough Whitlam agreeing with his position and encouraging him to keep up “the good fight”.

Within the book Latham is a “true believer”, battling against the ALP’s machine men. But his view of Labor and what it stands for is a romanticised one.

Latham looks back with rose-coloured glasses to mythical glory days, when a purer ALP was committed to improving the lives of working-class Australians. He forgets the splits and factionalism that are just as much a part of ALP history as the campaigns for a minimum wage and universal health care.

Former prime minister Gough Whitlam was a mentor to Mark Latham during his time in Parliament.
AAP/Mick Tsikas

Rejection of the old

Latham despairs at Labor’s rejection of the legacy of the Hawke-Keating economic reforms. He claims that the ALP under Kim Beazley’s leadership was so eager to distance itself from the Hawke-Keating era that no-one – including Beazley – seemed to know what the party stood for.

For Latham, the wilderness years of opposition were unbearable. He is utterly contemptuous of Beazley’s attempts to gain government:

After six years of Beazley’s small-target strategy, we face an identity crisis. The True Believers don’t know what we stand for and the swinging voters have stopped trying to find out.

Latham’s view was that the ALP should gain government because of the appeal of its policies, rather than strategic targeting and poll-driven responses to issues of the day.

Out of step with his party

One of the most interesting things about Latham is that his passion for economic reform – including reduction of tariffs, fiscal accountability, winding up generational reliance on welfare – and his belief in social capital was at the forefront of social democratic thinking in the late 1990s and early 2000s.

While the ALP was busy distancing itself from the economic reforms of the Hawke-Keating era, many social democrats in Europe and the US were using the reforms as a successful example of “Third Way” thinking. Latham was one of the leading advocates of Third Way politics in Australia during this period and published on the topic.

The Latham Diaries provides an insight into Latham’s views on where the ALP should be heading. While interested in the stories and lessons told by Keating and Whitlam, for Latham the real excitement is always in the future:

That’s the difference between us. I see a problem in the public arena and think: how do I solve it and explain the solution to people? Beazley sees a problem and thinks: how do I analyse it and exploit it?

Latham’s other area of concern focuses on his view that there is a social capital deficit in Australia which not only has a negative impact on political engagement, but also on the way in which we all live our lives. Latham regrets the lack of community that seems to pervade the sprawling Australian suburbs.

ALP factionalism

Throughout the book, it is clear that Latham understands how the factional system of the ALP works:

My belief in adventurism means that I will always have an uneasy relationship with the NSW Right … I joined the Right in the mid-1980s for pragmatic reasons: in a two-faction state you had to join one of them to have any hope of preselection.

The faction, however, is based on a culture of anti-intellectualism. Policy is made through a series of deals rather than the public interest.

Latham’s own behaviour is at times partly driven as a response to the factional system:

Simon Crean’s leadership came under pressure from the factional and union interests opposed to organisational reform … I resolved to remain loyal to his leadership, mainly on principle but also out of self-interest, as this assisted my rehabilitation in caucus after three years on the backbench.

Like many former members of caucus, upon leaving parliament Latham reveals a hatred of the factional system and the rise of machine men controlling the party. His disdain for the “three roosters” – Stephen Smith, Wayne Swan and Stephen Conroy – is evident in many of the entries:

These roosters have not learned anything from the leadership debacle. They are small-minded troublemakers and white-anters who would love to see me fall over to hurt Crean – two for the price of one.

Mark Latham made clear his disdain for the ALP’s factional system, run by the likes of Stephen Conroy.
AAP/Alan Porritt

The relationship between the press and caucus

The contempt Latham has for the press gains momentum throughout the book. In particular, Latham targets:

… the three gallery journalists who have run a ten-year critique on me are Oakes (Jabba), Grattan and Milne (the Dwarf).

Latham despises the culture of leaking among his colleagues. He quotes a June 2003 speech he gave supporting Simon Crean’s leadership:

If the push against our leader were to succeed, it would set a shocking precedent. This long campaign of leaking, backgrounding and sabotage would be legitimised within the ALP.

Following Crean’s departure as opposition leader, Latham assumes the role and tries to deal with the leaking within caucus:

I’ve had my suspicions for some time now that Rudd has been feeding material to Oakes. Decided to set him up, telling Kevvie about our focus groups on Iraq. No such research exists … Today right on cue Jabba has written in The Bulletin.

Post-2004 election fallout

Latham’s angst at the sacrifice of time with his family for his political career is genuine. He and his second wife, Janine, discussed whether or not he should continue in the role:

What can I do now? Three more years in this rotten job, three more years staring across the chamber at a Tory government … It’s tempting to pull the pin.

Having decided to remain as opposition leader, at the end of 2004 Latham suffered a second attack of pancreatitis, which he thinks was most likely a result of radiotherapy treatment he received for his cancer:

It’s all turned to seed: pancreatitis, time away from home, loss of privacy, impact on family, so many ficklers in politics, disdain for the media and the whingeing, gossiping, sickening caucus … that thing they call the Labor Party.

The relief Latham feels at his escape from the rigours of political life is evident.

Lasting lessons

While the book ends with Latham happy at being able to spend time with his family and regain his privacy, the reader is left with one over-arching question: how do we fix this problem?

Latham described an Australia where the country’s main reform party rejected its economic credentials, played small-target politics and refused to engage in the major debate on political philosophy of the late 20th century.

Ten years on, many of the complaints Latham made about the workings of Australia’s parliamentary system have moved from the secret inner sanctum of Canberra to everyday news events:

  • In-depth policy debate appears to be a thing of the past as politicians from both sides simply repeat the slogan of the day at whatever event they happen to be at.

  • Leadership issues quickly come to dominate the news cycle.

  • Leaking dominates the political environment. A mixture of disgruntled MPs seeking retribution and the ambitious looking to make friends in the press gallery provides the daily fodder that now dominates political coverage.

The flaws in our political system that Latham highlighted continue to affect us. Australia remains a poorer nation as a result. Ultimately, The Latham Diaries remains a seminal piece – not only having revealed the ALP’s inner workings, but having highlighted policy issues and structural problems that continue to be of concern a decade on.

The Conversation

Natalie Mast, Associate Director, Research Data & Strategy, University of Western Australia

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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Not My Review: Cool Shades, by Vanessa Brown

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The link below is to a book review of ‘Cool Shades – The History and Meaning of Sunglasses,’ by Vanessa Brown.

For more visit:
http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/lsereviewofbooks/2015/11/20/book-review-cool-shades-the-history-and-meaning-of-sunglasses-by-vanessa-brown/

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Book review: Selling Apartheid – South Africa’s Global Propaganda War

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Peter Vale, University of Johannesburg

In the face of mounting of international disapprobation, how did white rule in South Africa sustain itself?

Ron Nixon tries to answer this question in Selling Apartheid – South Africa’s Global Propaganda War. He is a Washington correspondent of the New York Times and an associate of the department of Media and Journalism Studies at Wits University. Unfortunately, his book disappoints.

As the title suggests, Nixon believes that apartheid South Africa “sold” – rather than “told” – its story to the world. His narrative draws from three sources: published work, several interviews, and a peek into (mainly) American archives. His technique is the case study.

So he uses the exemplar case of apartheid’s “unorthodox diplomacy” – the well-documented Muldergate scandal of the 1970s. Its infamy was heightened by the fierce interdepartmental rivalry it generated. It also ended the careers of the then-prime minister, John Vorster, and Connie Mulder, the influential information minister. Mulder was considered to be next in line for the top job.

The conspiracy aimed to buy newspapers in the US with taxpayers’ money. Through these, apartheid’s cause would be promoted in an America in which the issue of human rights was increasingly drawn towards the foreign policy debate. South Africa aimed to tap into a counter-narrative that eventually led to the Reagan presidency, the rise of free market economics, and the “second” Cold War.

As Nixon points out several times, the events that culminated in Muldergate were spearheaded by a 30-something former journalist and sometime government information officer. His name was Eschel Rhoodie, a controversial character in any book.

Dubious characters peddling apartheid

The Paper Curtain, a polemic Eschel Rhoodie wrote, seemingly was the text that enabled South Africa’s traditional diplomacy, modelled on formal state-to-state practice, to change into a policy of buying influence in high places in Washington and other Western capitals.

When the Muldergate ruse was exposed, Rhoodie fled and purported sightings of him came to overshadow the scandal itself. Intrepid South African pressmen finally tracked him down in Ecuador. The occasion was marked by a photograph of him feeding a llama, on the front page of the then-Rand Daily Mail.

Nixon has used the seminal account of Muldergate, written by journalists Mervyn Rees and Chris Day, as the basis for his version of the story. So, on the Muldergate case, there’s very little new in the book.

In presenting another case, Nixon turns to another contentious character – Max Yergan, a Black American activist who arrived in South Africa in 1922 to pursue a career in the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA).

Posted to Alice, in the Eastern Cape, Yergan became close to many who would play a role in South Africa’s liberation – John Tengo Jabavu, John Langalilele Dube, Alfred Xuma, ZK Matthews and Govan Mbeki.

Ostensibly monitored by the state’s security apparatus, Yergan gradually lost his faith in Christianity (and in the work of the YMCA) as a force for liberation. During a visit the Soviet Union in 1934, he embraced Marxism. Unsurprisingly, his South African friends found him a “changed” man when he returned to this country.

Three years later, and back in the US, he set up (and served) on various bodies that were the precursor to the worldwide anti-apartheid movement. In these spaces, Yergan rubbed shoulders with legends of Black American culture and politics: actor Paul Robeson, Nobel Laureate Ralph J.Bunche, and pan-African intellectual W.E.B du Bois.

But Yergan’s political star was to crash, as the Cold War took hold, in a brutal argument with Robeson. This conflict drove Yergan back towards South Africa in the form of a newly found anti-communism. This was the official Cold War position of the government in Pretoria that he had once so strongly opposed.

In the 1940s Yergan made several visits to South Africa that were cleared by the FBI and sanctioned by the white government. During the course of these, Yergan and his fierce anti-communist views were spurned by the African National Congress, South Africa’s liberation movement, and by the South African Communist Party.

Eschel Rhoodie.
The Star

If efforts by white power to directly buy influence in the world – as in the Rhoodie instance – is one case in Nixon’s book, another – represented by the Yergan example – was the failure of Black Americans to understand that they too could be tricked by the persuasive power of the white purse.

Where books fails and succeeds

But – and this is a failure of the book intellectually – the comparative value of these two cases, and others of similar ilk in the book, is of limited value. They are not thought through.

Nixon is strongest, empirically, when he is working the Washington patch: his access to individuals and to archival sources has brought several fresh issues to the fore. That said, he is weak on American policy towards apartheid South Africa and how this issue was linked to decolonisation in the subcontinent.

So, the important role of Henry Kissinger, Secretary of State under Richard Nixon, in the making of America’s African policy is poorly considered. When he was US national security advisor, Kissinger was responsible for what was famously called the “Tar Baby” option – America’s policy tilt to governments in Africa’s “white South” and intentionally away from the majority-ruled countries.

This move, more than any other factor, opened the way for Vorster’s government to “sell” its wares to the US and – as Nixon also claims – to its European Cold War allies. Unfortunately, as the focus moves towards these places, the empirical evidence weakens, and speculation drives the story.

Let’s be clear: there is no doubt that successive apartheid governments spent millions (and much energy) cosying up to political parties (and the great-and-good that support them) in the UK, and in Europe. But the deep evidence for this, as presented in these pages, is a thin, thin reed.

There is an important and interesting book to be written on the apartheid’s efforts to peddle its story through unorthodox diplomacy, but this is not it.

The Conversation

Peter Vale, Director, Johannesburg Institute for Advanced Study, University of Johannesburg

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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Book review: Before Rupert – Keith Murdoch and the Birth of a Dynasty

by

Peter Cochrane, University of Sydney

Keith Murdoch might have followed his father into the ministry of the Free Church of Scotland but the stammer that would dog him all his life put paid to a career in the pulpit. Instead he chose journalism, and thereby hangs a tale.

Prior to Tom D.C. Roberts’ independent scholarship there were three biographies of Keith Murdoch commissioned by the family – two of which were published, being more flattery than biography. There was a book by John Avieson that was never published; there was a careful, pared-back entry in the Australian Dictionary of Biography written by Geoffrey Serle; and there was not much else.

The myth spun around Murdoch held tight for a long time. He was the man who, by dint of hard work and talent, rose from lowly reporter to become a selfless journalist in the service of the public good and subsequently the head of the largest media group in Australia.

And Murdoch was the author of the “Gallipoli letter”. He was the Australian war correspondent who fearlessly exposed the debacle and tragedy of Gallipoli in a scathing exposé that brought about the evacuation of the Anzacs from the Gallipoli peninsula.

But Murdoch did not suggest evacuation in the famous letter. That was the myth holding tight. Roberts notes with some pleasure that:

… critical engagement with a life otherwise accepted as written has the potential to yield rich new information and perspectives, most particularly on those who have sought to frame and protect a particular view of the past.

This book busts that frame. It is a comprehensive biography, gifting to readers a new understanding of Murdoch and the genesis of his family dynasty. The subject is thoroughly yet fairly interrogated and the life richly contextualised, particularly with reference to journalism, high politics and the technological advances that Murdoch was quick to add to his newsprint business – notably radio, newsreels and air travel.

The Gallipoli letter catapulted Murdoch into the high politics of wartime London. At 30 he was hobnobbing with men of great power and influence, and was determined to be a power in his own right. The book is a detailed account of how he did it, how he “ruthlessly exploited his networks to gain ultimate control over Australia’s media and political landscapes” and, contrary to the myth, bequeathed his son Rupert far more than a single provincial newspaper.

But riches can be intangible. What Keith left Rupert, apart from the wealth and a world of connections in high places, was a template for remorseless expansion. The full meaning of this legacy builds slowly – step by step – as the narrative reveals what a clone is Rupert. The book could well have been called The Murdoch Gene.

The parallels between the Keith Murdoch press’s disgraceful coverage of the Gun Alley murder case (1921-22) and the News of the World phone-hacking scandal (2002-11) are utterly chilling. But that’s a mere fragment of a lifelong and still evolving pattern.

Roberts has rightly taken a keen interest in the hitherto unexplored roots of Keith Murdoch’s relentless pursuit of worldly riches and temporal power. He finds these roots in Murdoch’s passionate Social Darwinism – manifesting in the first instance in his professed need to “struggle” and be “very fit indeed”, maturing in the first world war into a white race evangelism, the elevation of racial purity into “the sacred object” (to quote Murdoch) and his slightly later commitment to eugenics, which he reaffirmed after the second world war.


UQP

Murdoch’s racial passions took expression in his near-worship of the Anzacs’ bodies, in his promotion of female beauty competitions and, strangest of all, “The Best Baby in the British Empire” competition in 1924.

Readers were asked to submit “unclothed and full-length” photographs of their children. The shortlist for the London stage of the competition was to be subjected to “medical testimony” on their physical features. The Australian judging panel was headed by the vociferous eugenicist R.J. Berry.

The winner was “little Pat Wilson” from Melbourne. “Little Pat”, with her “milk-white skin” had triumphed over 60,000 other competitors. Roberts appears not to have inquired as to the racial composition of the various shortlists and the finalists, other than “little Pat”. Perhaps we can guess the answer?

Roberts charts Murdoch’s rapid creation of a newspaper empire, his corporate wheeling and dealing, his great and powerful friends (Lord Northcliffe, Beaverbrook, W.L. Bailleu), his eagle eye for the advantage to be exploited in new technologies and his transition into the role of “kingmaker”, a man powerful enough to make and unmake cabinets, governments and even prime ministers.

Quite a story, quite a template, for son Rupert.

Keith Murdoch rarely failed, but one or two failures were spectacular. His second attempt to unmake a “king”, after contributing to General Sir Ian Hamilton’s recall from Gallipoli, remains infamous. He was part of a small cabal – including C.E.W. Bean – intent on removing Major General John Monash from the Western Front, putting him behind a desk in London and replacing him with Major General Brudenell White. The plot failed.

Monash made his resentment plain in a letter to his wife, nine days before the crucial battle of Hamel – which would prove to be a masterstroke of his generalship:

It is a great nuisance to have to fight a pogrom of this nature in the midst of all one’s other anxieties.

The Monash vignette is but a small part of Roberts’ rich account of Murdoch’s role in the war as chief propagandist for Prime Minister Billy Hughes, chief “sooler-on” in the recruitment and conscription campaigns, chief race patriot and otherwise tireless climber.

Murdoch’s origins in devout Calvinism never quite left him, or at least remained as polite cover for his more base instinct and purpose. He frequently expressed this purpose in terms of good works in the public interest or epistles about honesty and disinterested truthfulness. But as Roberts points out, it is in his private directives to his lieutenants, such as Lloyd Dumas, that we see a more candid Murdoch and, again, the template evolving. He wrote in February 1930:

We want crime, love, excitement and sensation. More of these essentials are undoubtedly required even to maintain sales.

Murdoch wanted:

… romance, mystery, crime – all three and plenty of them!

Roberts has crafted a fine biography, full of remarkable insights into a central figure in Australian corporate and political history, a figure hitherto enveloped in family mythology, a figure whose chief legacy – a chip off the old block – is still hard at work everywhere, but mostly in New York.

The Conversation

Peter Cochrane, Honorary Associate, Department of History, University of Sydney

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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Not My Review: Church Elders – How To Shepherd God’s People Like Jesus, by Jeramie Rinne

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The link below is to a book review of ‘Church Elders – How To Shepherd God’s People Like Jesus,’ by Jeramie Rinne.

For more visit:
http://matt-mitchell.blogspot.com.au/2015/10/review-church-elders-how-to-shepherd.html

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Book review: Takeover – Foreign Investment and the Australian Psyche

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Mark Beeson, University of Western Australia

Some things never change. One of the perennial features of Australia’s economic and political discourse is how to deal with foreign investment and ownership. Given Australia’s historical reliance on foreign capital to fund national development, this is more surprising than it might seem.

David Uren is one of Australia’s best economic commentators. His excellent analysis of Australian attitudes toward foreign investment in Takeover – Foreign Investment and the Australian Psyche explains how the frequently conflicting views of free traders and protectionists – whether on the political left or right – have shaped public policy.

The “national interest”, at least as far as economic policy is concerned, has always been a contested compromise and a consequence of the relative political influence of these domestic forces. This is an important conclusion that emerges from Uren’s detailed exploration of Australia’s economic history.

If there is one criticism to be made about the book it is that Uren is at times surprisingly reserved about spelling out the implications of his own analysis. Dispassionate disinterest has its merits, but it is somewhat surprising that someone whose day job is writing for The Australian is not more forceful in spelling out the book’s central argument about a liberal investment regime’s possible merits.

As it is, the book has a rather “academic” feel, at least as far as the content is concerned. One of its strengths is in making clear just what a long-standing part of Australia’s economic and political history anxiety about foreign investment actually is, and how this has shaped domestic political debates and attitudes.

As Uren points out, when Joe Hockey blocked the takeover of GrainCorp by the US multinational Archer Daniels Midland in 2013, he employed precisely the same sorts of arguments that were made to justify protectionism in the 1850s.

That the Abbott government could snub a company from the US – Australia’s closest strategic ally – is indicative of the domestic political sensitivity of foreign investment. It’s also a reminder of the Nationals’ enduring influence on trade and investment issues. The rise of China as Australia’s most important trading partner and a growing source of investment adds an additional layer of complexity to the task of deciding what’s in Australia’s supposed national interest.

In this context, at least, Uren is unambiguous. The way questions about the national interest are decided in relation to investment is “a travesty”, he argues, and “lacks transparency, predictability and accountability”. He is especially scathing about the way policy toward Chinese investment has been handled.

And yet, concerns about the nature of China’s form of “state capitalism” are not without foundation. Market forces and a concern about short-term profitability are not the sole determinant of investment decisions by state-owned enterprises. Even if such policies are ultimately misguided and destined to fail, it is important that other governments recognise their potential impact on economic and even strategic outcomes.


Black Inc

Uren gives this possibility short shrift. But even if he’s right about the largely beneficial impact of foreign investment, it might have been useful to give more consideration to the origins of inward capital flows.

It often does make a difference where it comes from, how foreign multinationals operate, and what their relationship is with their countries of origin. Japanese multinationals really did try to shape the resource trade in the 1980s and the possible implications of that experience have not been lost on China’s policymakers.

The key question Australian policymakers have to consider is about the long-term impact of investment decisions that are made elsewhere, but which ultimately help to determine the structure of the national economy. This is no easy task. Some observers think the national economy no longer actually exists as a discrete entity over which policymakers can exercise control.

But even if “globalisation” has transformed an increasingly integrated international economy, politics remains relentlessly local – and so do most people’s jobs.

So while Uren might be right to highlight the rent-seeking behaviour of foreign multinationals in the car industry, for example, the reality is that they provided relatively high-skill, well-paid jobs for many Australians – not to mention the backbone of a national manufacturing capacity.

The problem with letting footloose multinational capital make all the decisions about where investment occurs is that Australia may end up with an economy that is narrowly focused and overly reliant on activities that are prone to cyclical booms and busts. That is precisely where Australia finds itself.

If the national economic interest means anything, it must surely refer to policies and outcomes that benefit the majority of the population who live in a particular place.

It is already clear that the vast wealth generated by the resource boom was squandered. It is also evident that the effort to tax the primarily foreign companies that were the resource boom’s principal beneficiaries was, according to Uren:

… one of the greatest failures of public policy in the history of Australian government.

It is not necessary to agree with Uren’s concerns about the possibly negative impact of nationalist sentiment on investment policy and decisions to recognise that this book is a significant contribution to our understanding of why foreign investment remains a contentious area of public policy.

As no less a figure than Malcolm Turnbull declares on the back cover, the book:

… explains the lay of the land today.

Indeed it does, prime minister – even if the author could have been a bit more forthright about his conclusions.

The Conversation

Mark Beeson, Professor of International Politics, University of Western Australia

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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Not My Review: After Acts, by Bryan Litftin

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The link below is to a book review of ‘After Acts,’ by Bryan Litftin.

For more visit:
http://matt-mitchell.blogspot.com.au/2015/09/after-acts-by-bryan-litftin-book-review.html

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Not My Review: United By Faith – The Multiracial Congregation as an Answer to the Problem of Race, by Curtiss Paul DeYoung, Michael O. Emerson, George Yancey and Karen Chai Kim

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The link below is to a book review of ‘United By Faith – The Multiracial Congregation as an Answer to the Problem of Race,’ by Curtiss Paul DeYoung, Michael O. Emerson, George Yancey and Karen Chai Kim.

For more visit:
http://9marks.org/review/book-review-united-by-faith-by-curtiss-paul-deyoung-et-al/

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Not My Review: Reviving the Black Church – New Life for a Sacred Institution, by Thabiti Anyabwile

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The link below is to a book review of ‘Reviving the Black Church – New Life for a Sacred Institution,’ by Thabiti Anyabwile.

For more visit:
http://9marks.org/review/book-review-reviving-the-black-church-by-thabiti-anyabwile/

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Not My Review: Right Color Wrong Culture by Bryan Lorrits

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The link below is to a book review of ‘Right Color Wrong Culture,’ by Bryan Lorrits.

For more visit:
http://9marks.org/review/book-review-right-color-wrong-culture-by-bryan-loritts/