Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 8 December 1972
The New Australia (Advertisement), by Jed Kelly
The new Whitlam government has changed Australia after only a week. Although the cabinet will not be appointed until the newly elected members of the parliamentary Labor Party meet on 18 December, Prime Minister Whitlam and his deputy, Lance Barnard, have: formally recognised China; abolished conscription; released all draft resisters from prison; ordered the remaining Australian troops back from Vietnam; reopened the investigation into equal pay for women; and removed the sales taxes on contraceptives and Australian wine.
Editorial: A Rush to Ruin!
In a move that has dismayed experienced members of our defence services, the first act of the Whitlam government on its first day in office has been to free all draft resisters who were in prison and drop charges against more than 300 more. Conscription has been abolished and the last Australian troops will be returned to Australia within three weeks.
The new ‘government’, which at present consists only of Mr Whitlam and his deputy, Lance Barnard, has announced that racially selected sporting teams from South Africa will no longer be allowed to enter Australia. This ban follows last year’s Australia-wide demonstrations against the touring South African Springboks. According to Chamber of Commerce president, Graham Flint: ‘Sport should be above politics!’
SAM
The summer heat was stifling under the big tent, even with the sides up to let in whatever breeze there was. Sam sat cross-legged, automatically brushing the flies from his eyes, and tried not to listen as the others argued back and forth. The problem with commune life was its very communality, every little thing forked over and over, like the compost pits. Like compost, the result might be rich, but it was also boring.
‘That reminds me,’ he broke into the discussion about whether the next vegetable gardens should be planted with tomatoes, or a mix of salad greens. ‘I won’t have time to help with the planting.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Carol, her hands still busy with a spider’s web of orange macramé.
‘Got some jobs on.’ Mentioning Jed would not be tactful. His fling with Carol had been in her ‘free love’ phase. It had taught him that love, and sex, left bonds you might not expect, or want. ‘Anyway, if we’re going to buy Colorbond for the roof of the new shed, we need to have some real money coming in, now that Greg’s gone home. The rates’ll be due soon too.’
‘Why should we pay rates if we don’t get anything in return?’ demanded Clifford.
‘We use the roads.’
‘We don’t have to. We could ride or walk across country.’
Sam shrugged. It was a useless argument. They had to pay rates, fair or not.
‘There’s also a letter from the building inspector,’ said Carol.
‘That’s later in the agenda,’ began Clifford.
‘Well, I’m bringing it up now. We don’t have council approval for the dome. And we only have two hundred acres, which means we can only get building approval for two houses.’
‘We shouldn’t have to get approval!’
That too was irrelevant, thought Sam. Councils had the power to demolish illegal buildings.
Carol grinned. ‘I think I’ve worked out a way around the regulations. If we put a breezeway between Sam’s place and mine, then it’ll technically be one house. And we just need an engineer’s certificate to say the dome and the breezeway are structurally sound and they’ll give us retrospective approval. Sam, conveniently, is an engineer.’
‘But we shouldn’t have to —’ began JohnandAnnie.
‘Let’s vote,’ said Carol crisply. ‘Okay, all in favour except Clifford. But we do need the rates money. Sam, how much are you going to be paid?’
‘Didn’t ask.’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake. Okay, we have twenty-four dollars and eighteen cents in the bank account . . .’
‘You’re making us sound like bourgeois capitalist lackeys.’ That was Clifford’s worst possible form of abuse.
‘There’s another eight dollars something in the jar,’ said JohnandAnnie. The jar was the honesty box on the table up on the main road where they left the spare vegetables to sell, as well as Carol’s macramé pot-plant holders, which even she admitted were truly, deeply hideous. The public so far had been surprisingly honest. The jar had been emptied only once, and usually contained more, not less than the goods on the table had been priced at.
‘The rates are fifty-one dollars,’ said Carol. ‘We need more money.’
‘You shouldn’t have bought new violin strings,’ said Clifford.
‘That came out of Leafsong’s allowance from Dad. And the rest of her allowance went into our bank account. She’s subsidising you, mate.’
‘Patriarchal capitalist crap. It’s the people’s money. The people’s violin too.’
Leafsong’s arms tightened about herself. Scarlett, sitting next to her in her wheelchair, was looking furious, though as a visitor, she had carefully not taken part in the meeting. She was always about the place now, Leafsong helping her chair on the uneven ground, in case it tilted.
‘Cool it, okay? No one is going to touch Leafsong’s violin,’ said Sam, and saw Scarlett relax and give him an approving smile. Funny kid. Nice kid. As far as he was concerned, no one was touching his tools either. Most had belonged to his Uncle Sandy, and before that to old Mr Mack, who’d been like a grandfather to him. Sam kept them locked up in his toolbox these days, not hanging up where any idiot could use one of his chisels to pry open a stuck window. ‘But we do need to think about more of an income. And some of us,’ he carefully didn’t look at Clifford or JohnandAnnie, ‘need to do a bit more work around the place.’
‘Hey, man, I do my share of washing-up . . .’
‘Your Protestant work ethic is showing, man.’
‘Yeah. Probably.’ And next week he was going to buy that ute. You could carry tools on a bicycle, but not lengths of pipe or solar panels, and he was sick of having to borrow a vehicle from his parents. Nor was the bank account where he’d saved the money for the ute anyone else’s business. If it came to a pinch, he’d pay the rates himself — Nancy’s and Matilda’s commissions alone would give him enough. But he didn’t see why he should pay for Clifford to read Karl Marx or JohnandAnnie to laze about smoking pot, playing Cat Stevens songs on their guitar.
Sam uncurled himself. ‘I’m going for a swim. Anyone else coming?’
‘Me,’ said Scarlett as Leafsong stood up with a smile.
‘But the meeting isn’t over,’ insisted Clifford.
‘It is for me,’ said Sam. He took hold of Scarlett’s chair. The kid could swim surprisingly well, but he made sure he kept an eye on her when she was in or near the river.
As he left the shade of the tent, he heard Carol call the meeting to order.