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John Pilger: The Queensland floods - Australia’s Katrina moment

Corruption and the cult of the market have made a natural disaster into an outrage.

When you fly over the earth's oldest land mass, Australia, the view can be shocking. There are scars as long as European countries, the result of erosion. Salt pans shimmer where once native vegetation grew. This is almost impossible to reverse. The first to die are the most vulnerable species. According to the International Union for Conservation of Nature, Australia's devastation of its natural environment has caused more mammal extinction than in any other country. The iconic koala is used to attract tourists; the Queen and Oprah Winfrey are photographed cuddling one, unaware that this unique creature has enriched the state of Queensland for decades with its industrial slaughter and the sale of its skin to Britain and America. Today, the belatedly "protected" koala is threatened not by flood or drought, but rapacious land-clearing, of which Queensland is the national champion. Each year, according to the World Wide Fund for Nature, the state in effect destroys 100 million birds, mammals and reptiles.

The land is "cleared" by fire or machinery, often with a heavy chain tied between two bulldozers: a technique developed by Queensland's most notorious land-clearer, the late Sir Johannes Bjelke-Petersen, the conservative state premier for 19 years, whose self-awarded knighthood was given for "services to parliamentary democracy", such as winning gerrymandered elections with 20 per cent of the vote. In 1992, a defamation jury found that Bjelke-Petersen had been bribed "on a large scale and on many occasions". Two of his ministers and his police commissioner were jailed. Lucrative land became a prize for cronies known as the "white shoe brigade". Brown envelopes of cash were handed over at a five-star hotel recently lapped by floodwaters in the centre of Brisbane.

Wrong type of flood

Last May, the Queensland Labor government announced that it had sold swaths of the state's forests and plantations to Hancock Queensland Plantations, a subsidiary of a US-based timber multinational. Queensland has many low-lying flood plains on which developers have been allowed to make fortunes selling plots. The victims of the great flood have been mostly poor people. Most could not afford insurance, or discovered that their policy did not include "types of flood".

The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, says an ACCC report, deliberately stopped insurance companies from agreeing a common definition of flood so that "insurers will continue to compete vigorously by product differentiation" through offerings that use many definitions of "flood" to specify which risks are covered and which are excluded. The callousness of this imposed confusion is emblematic of how the Australian elite have treated those ruined by an inland ocean the size of Germany and France combined. Flooding also struck Brazil in April and Sri Lanka in December, but the disaster in Australia is far more revealing; for Australia is a "first-world" country with advanced technology and communications, and yet tens of thousands of people received no emergency warning. Here, the cult of the "market" has diminished public services and infrastructure budgets, and divided by wealth a society that once boasted the most equitable spread of personal income in the world.

Little of this is discussed in a media where Rupert Murdoch owns 70 per cent of state capital-city press. When the leader of the Greens, Bob Brown, dared suggest that the Queensland flood was due in part to "the burning of fossil fuels [causing] the hottest oceans we've ever seen off Australia", he was told to apologise to the mining industry. In the decade to 2005, says the Wilderness Society, "the amount of land-clearing in Australia was so extensive that the greenhouse gases produced rivalled the amount produced by cars and trucks".

Divide and rule

A feature of the floods has been the PR campaigns of leading right-wing Labor Party politicians, notably the prime minister, Julia Gillard, and the Queensland premier, Anna Bligh, who have talked up the "Aussie battler" spirit in the face of "Mother Nature's wrath". The media echo of this evokes Sir Johannes's description of spinning a line to journalists as "feeding the chooks". In truth, successive governments have rejected, ignored or suppressed the recommendations of their own experts which, if acted upon, could have saved Brisbane.

In 1999, a report commissioned by Brisbane City Council warned of "significantly higher" flooding than in the last great flood in 1974. When this was leaked, an alleged cover-up was referred to the state's crime and misconduct commission, but nothing happened.

Andrew Short, director of the coastal studies unit at the University of Sydney, compares the Queensland flood with the scandal of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina. "This is something we have been waiting for . . ." he said. "Why were there no levees to protect the low-lying towns? . . . Why are major highways and railways still below flood level?"

Prime Minister Gillard has so far offered crumbs from a treasury in surplus, that subsidises the fossil-fuel industry with A$10bn (£6.2bn) and that is pledged to spend A$1.1bn on Australia's mercenary "commitment" to American wars. Having sent just 13 helicopters to rescue the stranded, Gillard appointed Major General Mick Slater to lead the recovery operation: an admission that the civilian emergency services had been so depleted, they could not cope. Slater's most interesting statement has been a threat. "There is no reason why we won't have [success]," he said, "unless . . . the media start to become divisive within the community and then, if there are areas of failure, I think I could find the reason and track it back to different areas within the media." He was not challenged. The chooks were fed.

John Pilger, renowned investigative journalist and documentary film-maker, is one of only two to have twice won British journalism's top award; his documentaries have won academy awards in both the UK and the US. In a New Statesman survey of the 50 heroes of our time, Pilger came fourth behind Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela. "John Pilger," wrote Harold Pinter, "unearths, with steely attention facts, the filthy truth. I salute him."

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Chrissie longed to be one of the boys. Unlike us, she didn’t have riot grrrl

Chrissie Hynde has been accused of victim blaming. But her plight seems to me very much the plight of a female rock fan of her age.

I keep thinking about Chrissie Hynde’s memoir Reckless, and the controversy that has swirled around her apparent blaming of herself for a sexual assault she suffered as a teenager. The whole sad story says so much about what it used to mean to be a rock fan and a rebel in the Sixties and Seventies. Chrissie tells her tale in a style of swaggering bravado, eulogising her male rock heroes – “I wanted to be them, not do them” – and the biker gangs she idolised (“I loved the bikes and I loved the way they talked about honour and loyalty and brotherhood”).

I heard Chrissie interviewed on the radio about the book and squirming through a line of questioning that accused her of having the wrong attitude to her rape. Hang on, she objected, I never used the word “rape”. And it’s true, she never does, describing the assault instead in a tone which implies that she regarded it more as some kind of awful initiation. She says getting her “comeuppance” was her fault for failing the code, for being too mouthy. All she wanted, it seems, was to be respected by the bad guys, to be admitted to their ranks.

This, understandably, hasn’t gone down well, and Chrissie has been accused of victim blaming. But her plight seems to me very much the plight of a female rock fan of her age. Born in 1951, she had no female role models. To be a woman meant to have no place in the rock scene she adored, and so, she writes, “I thought sex was, like becoming ‘a woman’, something to put off for as long as possible.” Desperate to be one of the guys, she accepted their rules – no complaining, no whining, taking it like a man. Hence her macho stance, refusing to blame anyone but herself.

I found Chrissie’s book quite cold and sad, and so I was greatly cheered by then reading Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl by Carrie Brownstein. Carrie’s band Sleater-Kinney sprang from the Washington punk and indie scene of the early Nineties, and what her book showed was how much changed in the 20 years or so that separated the two women.

Chrissie Hynde had acted as an individual, an outrider. She grew up going to see the Stones, the Who and Led Zeppelin, and as for female rock stars at that time, she said, “You could count them on one hand.” But Brownstein was born in 1974, her first gig was Madonna, and by the mid-Nineties she had the whole riot grrrl scene to call on – “a network of people finding their voices”. Both the participants and the subject matter had changed: “Girls wrote and sang about sexism and sexual assault, about shitty bosses and boyfriends.” Feminism and gender politics had reasserted themselves, and this time the girls in music weren’t playing second fiddle.

I remember going to a riot grrrl gig in London. The bands were Huggy Bear and Bikini Kill, the audience was women only, and it was thrilling, very unlike the days of punk, when there may have been women onstage but usually men ruled the room. The recent documentary The Punk Singer shows Kathleen Hanna from Bikini Kill on stage at another gig. “All girls to the front,” she yells. “I’m not kidding. All girls to the front. All boys be cool for once in your lives. Go back. Back –” and she waves the guys out of the moshpit and towards the back of the club, finally laying claim to a literal space for women to inhabit. It felt like the culmination of a years-long rebuttal of the rules of rock’n’roll.

So it can be easy to forget now that once upon a time, the only available musical identity was male. Even Patti Smith, our heroine and champion for so long now, wrote about seeing Keith Richards and wanting to be him. In the words of that great feminist saying, quoted by Caitlin Moran, “I cannot be what I cannot see,” but Chrissie’s generation took that fact and turned it on its head. They wanted to be just like the guys – and sometimes that came at painful expense to themselves, but in doing so they opened up the options for female identity. And those of us who followed: we could be something new, because we could see them. 

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis