Disregard For Convention

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..disregard of convention was a virtue in itself.

Of course, it might well have been a virtue, or it might equally well have been a vice, depending on the ethical content and social effect of the convention in question. But there is little doubt that an oppositional attitude towards social rules is what wins the modern intellectual his spurs, in the eyes of other intellectuals. And the prestige that intellectuals confer upon antinomianism soon communicates itself to nonintellectuals. What is good for the bohemian sooner or later becomes good for the unskilled worker, the unemployed, the welfare recipient - the very people most in need of boundaries to make their lives tolerable or allow them hope of improvement. The result is moral, spiritual and emotional squalor, engendering fleeting pleasures and prolonged suffering...

Critics of social institutions and traditions, including writers of imaginative literature, should always be aware that civilisation needs conversation at least as much as it needs change, and that immoderate criticism, or criticism from the standpoint of utopian first principles, is capable of doing much - indeed devastating - harm.

Theodore Dalrymple: Our Culture, What's Left Of It: The Mandarins and the Masses.

This was the end of the locked doors, flimsy corridors, shallow pointless labyrinths without end. Ashley, Ashley, tomorrow is another day. He gasped, because that was all that was left. His mind kept going in loops, back through to the Kincumber Spiritual Retreat, back to the pressure to make a fool of himself; the happenstance, the magnificent St Joseph's buildings, McKillop Drive, McKillop Chapel. The older nuns. The sacrifice. The profound shifts in psyche we all prayed for. But he had not been deserted, it only felt that way. The houses creeping into their own cold in the early hours of the morning, the quiet views across the inlet, the rustle of the water birds, the hint of a coming sunrise, he saw it all in his insomniac state; and then later, when the sun was up, matched the shouts of children or boys heading off to the wharf with fishing rods against what he had imagined, the old, the derelict, the ancient cold. It was important to be quiet, humble, gracious, to tell the truth, to be awake to his own artifice.

Because when all was pretense truth was difficult to determine. When every construct was manufactured, they could be easily blown away. He was no longer seeking shelter, he was looking to build his own. He felt like an hysteric flinging himself upon a burning funeral pyre, but why the self sacrifice he would never know. At the mere hint of a feeling, he was willing to die. The funeral pyres of India, where they sacrificed the widows in days of old, burnt through his imagination as one of the most barbaric of practices. Yet here, at any moment, the same fires were burning and he was willing to sacrifice himself, just to escape. This shrieking, hysterical nonsense wrapped itself up in his head, and made it even more difficult to present the calm, gracious image he was working towards. He was shrivelled in decay; and so distressed by his own mistakes, he knew now he would die a street alcoholic and there was no escape.

For a brief respite he thought he would escape his own destiny; and then his own weak willed failures pounded it in on him: he was doomed. Might as well give up now. That had always been the way, in his derelict soul. Give up now. Failure is inevitable, so drown your sorrows. Total abstinence is not a virtue. He can sit in the corner pub and become at one with the masses, the flow, that very very beautiful flow of alcohol coursing through his veins, warming his heart and his limbs and warding off the ancient cold most effectively, was all that he wanted. The company was always encouraging. They saw him as a success; for their own triumphs were rare, and the alcohol had already lowered their expectations. He had been shocked, sober, to discover their miserable, dismal status, the tediousness of those lives he had once celebrated; could hardly wait to finish work to get back down there amongst them.

There in the beer garden they had made home, the heater burning the cold air and making inviting this tiny stretch of enclosed concrete that wasn't really a beer garden, more a tiny square of inner-city backyard where they went for cigarettes and gossip. He was so pleased. He listened to the blokes telling jokes, Justin, who lived upstairs and maintained his cockney accent and his cockney stance, talking casually about wanking off after having seen something to stir him, Margaret about to embark on another tale everyone had heard before, Bridgette preparing to say something even more boring than last time she interrupted the conversation, Gerschie crackling about his own misfortune, the pain that was haunting him from his broken bones, his smashed body the product of building work and a love of motorcylces; not to mention being bashed several times by gangs of aboriginals when he went off the main drag to score. All of these characters he had come to love.

And now, back in Sydney after a brief weekend at Tambar Springs, checking everything was where it was meant to be, he surfaced slowly, batting off the depression which threatened to engulf him, thinking time and again of ways to escape. He was shattered, yet quietly dignified. His own demise was of no importance. The story he was meant to tell was bigger than any one person. The in-between places, the in-between people, all of it was part of a deeper compromise; and yet he had no choice but to plough forward. He was convinced there was a better way out but couldn't find it. He needed an assistant, an extra worker, and he was proud of the dark ages and the stamina he had shown in bouncing back, again and again. But the doors get narrower, they say, and the busts more lethal. He didn't know about that. All he knew was he didn't want to feel derelict in the soul anymore. He wanted freedom and respite. He wanted genuine happiness. And there was no sponsor, no over-arching intelligence, no God, who was going to provide it all on a platter. He picked up the ball and ran with it.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.smh.com.au/world/soldier-killed-in-unwinnable-war-20090719-dpk3.html

THE Government knows it is pursuing a war in Afghanistan that it cannot win and that will make little difference to global terrorism, a leading defence analyst says.

Hugh White of the Lowy Institute and the Australian National University said last night that he did not believe winning or losing in Afghanistan would change the terrorism situation in Indonesia or anywhere else.

With an 11th Australian soldier, Private Benjamin Ranaudo, 22, dead in Afghanistan and more than 400 more troops leaving soon to fight there, the Government has been quick to link the war to global terrorism and the Jakarta bombings on Friday.

"The question is whether what we are doing in Afghanistan is going to succeed," Professor White said. "The Government cannot justify committing troops unless there is a reasonable chance they can succeed. I do not think the Government is persuaded that there is a significant chance of success in Afghanistan."

Professor White said he thought the Government feared that it would look weak if it withdrew from Afghanistan.

"If they are not convinced they have a reasonable chance of succeeding they have really got to ask themselves why they are asking Australian soldiers to die. I don't believe there is a reasonable chance of winning in Afghanistan and I don't believe they believe there is a reasonable chance of winning in Afghanistan."

Private Ranaudo was killed on Saturday as his unit surrounded a walled compound in the Baluchi Valley while searching for suspected insurgents.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25806608-5013404,00.html

THE three Australians killed in the Marriott hotel attack took the worst of the blast having sat at the corner of the breakfast table closest to the doorway the suicide bomber used to enter the room.

Mining executive Garth McEvoy, diplomat Craig Senger and human resources manager Nathan Verity never stood a chance - and would not have seen the bomber enter the room behind them. Those at the head of the table were more fortunate, shielded from the explosion by two large pillars.

Also killed inside the Marriott lounge were New Zealand businessman Tim McKay and Indonesian head waiter Evert Mokodompit. Numerous people, including the ANZ's Scott Merrillees, were wounded.

One of the men inside the room, the former head of Rio Tinto's Indonesian operations and member of the Australian-Indonesian Business Council, Noke Kiroyan, had no doubt the Marriott bomber had directly targeted the 19 businessmen who had gathered.

"That meeting was specifically for a single purpose," Mr Kiroyan said. "I would say the guy didn't turn left to the Sailendra coffee shop but turned right to the JW Marriott lounge, which is exclusively used by our group for these discussions."

A US embassy source confirmed Mr Kiroyan's view that the businessmen were targeted.

"The way it was described to me, he had a backpack strapped on the front and he had a stroller bag, like a pull-carriage (suitcase)," the embassy official told The Australian.

"The pull-carriage is the one that did all the damage to a close colleague of mine. It basically ripped everyone through the floor and that's why all the legs are shattered and the impacts are in the lower extremities. The upper one (bomb) basically blew the suicide bomber apart and anything that came out of that hit people from the top.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/07/19/AR2009071900705.html

GURGAON, India, July 19 -- The stage was set for a demonstration of how India and the United States could work together to reduce the impact of climate change: Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton touring an environmentally-friendly "green" office building on the outskirts of the sprawling capital of New Delhi.
This Story

But the clash between developed and developing countries over climate change intruded on the high-profile photo opportunity midway through Clinton's three-day tour of India. Indian Environmental Minister Jairam Ramesh complained about U.S. pressure to cut a worldwide deal and Clinton countered that the Obama administration's push for a binding agreement would not sacrifice India's economic growth.

As dozens of cameras recorded the scene, Ramesh declared that India would not commit to a deal that would require it to meet targets to reduce emissions. "It is not true that India is running away from mitigation," he said. But "India's position, let me be clear, is that we are simply not in the position to take legally binding emissions targets."

"No one wants to in any way stall or undermine the economic growth that is necessary to lift millions more out of poverty," Clinton countered. "We also believe that there is a way to eradicate poverty and develop sustainability that will lower significantly the carbon footprint."
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Both sides appearing to be playing to the Indian audience, with Ramesh taking the opportunity to reinforce India's bottom line.

Before the visit, U.S. officials were acutely aware that the Indian government has faced criticism at home for making what they considered relatively modest concessions on reducing greenhouse emissions earlier this month at a meeting of major economies. A leaked e-mail from former Indian negotiator Surya Sethi to other negotiators -- in which he asserted the decision would make India poorer -- generated a firestorm here.

Shellharbour.