Richard Ogier

On tariffs & the new ‘pro-Americanism’

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With Donald Trump in the White House, anyone in Australian politics — and beyond — that seems too archly pro-American is just going to look naive.

That’s the first implication of the US president’s “great consideration” given to tariff exemptions for Australia on steel and aluminium that came to nothing last week.

The change at the height of American government is seismic, neither mere aberration nor the sort of macabre theatre that Trump meted out to Volodymyr Zelensky before the world’s media in the Oval Office (one French editor thus characterising Trump’s humiliation of the Ukrainian president: ‘Be strong with the weak and weak with the strong’.)

The second implication is a brutal comeuppance for those who’ve tended to pooh-pooh international institutions, like the EU, preferring instead to deal with the world as if dominated by a few major powers. Well, it may be, but the point is that Australia is not one of them, and that Trump’s US may just decide, on a whim, to cut us out of the equation.

For countries like Australia — and here’s the third implication — there is now only one line of advocacy and that is for a multi-polar world. The rhetoric of Australian diplomacy for decades about the need to build relationships with like-minded democracies in Europe and Asia, suddenly has real teeth. For Australia, there ain’t no other option.

This was the geopolitical logic of the decision to build submarines with France, by the way, before the advent of the AUKUS pact meant binning a multi-billion dollar agreement with the French without actually telling the French. The rest of Europe looked on aghast.

The dominant pro-AUKUS argument, in this regard, became that to choose French subs was to stray from the old Anglo fold. Where was the fit? The implication being that there wasn’t one.

But in fact it provided the opportunity to broaden Australia’s allegiances beyond a fairly closed circuit of narrow loyalties with the US invariably front and centre. And now that the US has ‘turned’, apparently aligning itself with the Russian autocrat, we’re on a delicate footing with the allies we snubbed, as the Brits rebuild bridges with Europe, the Germans with the French, the Poles with the Germans and the French.

Last week was about tariffs, not the far weightier matter of the national defence of Australia. So, some argue — surely wrongly — we’re merely seeing a kind of temporary inconvenience, the opening of a parenthesis that will close when the checks and balances of American democracy clip Trump’s wings, finally returning him to reason, or the hapless Democrats win the Mid-Term elections in two years (or both).

But like us, the Brits have long claimed a special relationship with the US and are now clearly revising it, as are the Canadians, as they draw closer to Europe. Since at least President Obama, the US has made a strategic “pivot” away from Europe to Asia which, reassuringly, is where we are. And haven’t we been an unswerving US ally in the Indo-Pacific for as long as anyone can remember?

Yes, but this gives short shrift to the idea that Trump, by his own definition, is not just a wily deal-maker, a rancorous grudge-bearer, perhaps, but above all an elbows first nativist. Because for Trump, politics is pure transaction: there is no moral dimension — “moral” and “Maga” amounts to a contradiction-in-terms like, say, “democratic Maga” or “Christian Maga”.

Europeans may be struggling to face up to the strategic aggiornamento but it’s going to be even harder for Australia — the necessary paradigm shift is so massive. The US relationship has been our strategic foundation stone, America the big and powerful friend we’ve assumed we need since World War II, taking over from Britain in that role. Bobbing around on distant seas, a solitary ship Down Under, the primal fear — racist, of course — was always that of the descending ‘Asian hordes’. But the old discussion around why China would invade, has been superseded by the question, ‘were China to invade, why would the US come to our aid?’

With Trump at the helm, we should presume we’re on our own. There’s not much to expect from the US any time soon. That is the big chunk of learning. Put another way: at what point, if not now, does holding on to the former ‘certainties’ re- the US amount to apathy? Captain America has become a turncoat, abandoned ship and gone East.

On restaurant dining in Adelaide

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Sydney and Melbourne people tend to say that they’d like to visit Adelaide and should do, but then, well, still don’t. Things may have changed since I moved there from Sydney years ago, finishing school, university and finding a first career job. But I rather suspect that they haven’t.

On a recent visit from France where I’ve lived 20 of the past 25 years (the remainder in Munich), I was reminded that demure Adelaide probably presents a culinary experience to rival any French or German — let alone, Australian — city.

Not culinary in the sense of cuisine’s commanding heights, of ‘hats’, Michelin stars and the like. Nothing wrong with that. Like haute couture, haute cuisine is the province of a very special kind of creative talent.

But ‘culinary’ as in good food culture, broadly defined, from markets to local restaurants, wineries and cafes. The food culture that helps one interact with a city when visiting, or moving there, or reacquainting, when returning after a long stint away.

Feeling homesick when first in Paris — in fact, in a kind of phase II, the romance of discovery starting to fade — I would go in search of Italian restaurants for the familiarity of the menu and the hubbub.

Except that, because French is one of the world’s great cuisines, as is, surely, Italian, Italian restaurants tend to be expensive in France. Might the Italians be trying to prove themselves to the French? A Parisian friend once told me she would never consider serving pasta to her dinner guests.

I remember going to Paris’ 13th district, home to the city’s Asian culinary quarters, and being looked down upon when asking for a Laksa. “What is that?” came the question, after I’d given a faltering, impromptu account. Malaysian and Indonesian cuisine didn’t exist amid (or even, within), the many eateries doing combination Asian, signed as such on the front door or window: genre, “Chinese, Thai, Indian”. My first Laksa was at the Adelaide Central Market way back in the mid-80s, at a place called, Asian Gourmet. I was there again last month, the Laksa just as good as it always was.

The truth of the notion of culinary “rivalry”, is that it doesn’t mean much. Dine out in Paris, on say, beef bourguignon at a local bistro or brasserie, and you’re part of a tradition stretching back more than a hundred years. In a strict sense, it is incomparable. Still, quality has its underpinnings. Adelaide is akin to a “great cornucopia of fresh fruit and vegetables”, as a French magazine once described it, trucked down from the pretty market gardens of the Adelaide Hills about 20 minutes drive from the city centre.

It might be a sign of Paris-fatigue, or even just France fatigue, that my wife and I decided against spending the northern Summer holidays between Paris and regional Strasbourg, despite the Paris Olympics (or perhaps because of them). Instead, we opted for family time in Adelaide, sending teenage children to Sydney for their first-ever visit. You can imagine their excitement!

In the Australian context, diversity is another of quality’s underpinnings. A long-time friend belly-laughed, eyes squinting with mirth, at the list of old Adelaide restaurants I revisited, all of them local institutions from my formative years. Paul’s for fish simply and superbly done. (In France, fish invariably comes under a sauce.) Amalfi’s for superb Italian; Zapata’s for irresistible Mexican. In France, we know only the hybrid, “Tex-Mex”. I’ve never actually sighted an enchilada.

But innovation, too, exists in the City of Churches. Jake Kellie of Arkhé is doing fine cuts of meat strictly temperature-controlled with open flame only. I see in a press interview he’s recommending VDR for Vietnamese and Muni at Willunga: all fodder for my next Adelaide visit, and to prove that I realise it’s no longer 1985.

Because it’s patently, obviously true that culinary Adelaide has evolved immensely in recent years — at Singapore House the offer is aptly pan-Asian; at Wah Hing the cantonese cooking is outstanding. Foodie Adelaide’s quality-in-diversity is exceptional, which is yet another reflection perhaps — certainly viewed from France and Germany — of the unique success of Australian multiculturalism, arguably our greatest claim on the world.

Arkhé’s Kellie, not yet 35, has a Michelin star (obtained via a restaurant in Singapore), which of course is rare in Australia because the stars of French Michelin don’t actually cover Australia. So you might just have to visit Adelaide, to witness one in action, including, at last, from Sydney and Melbourne.

WILL MACRON SUBMIT TO HISTORY?

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Macron risks diminishing Europe, and France within it, by leaving the door open to a party traditionally militantly anti-European …

On the strife in New Caledonia

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Suddenly, the stakes just got a lot higher. The arrival of French President Emmanuel Macron in New Caledonia today — after more than a week of insurrectional violence — inevitably turns the mind to the delicate question of Australia’s recent diplomatic relations with France.

It’s a moot point how effectively Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has managed the ‘reset’ since his predecessor Scott Morrison announced the disastrous, all-Anglo AUKUS defence and security pact in September, 2021. This came hand-in-hand with the decision to scrap a multibillion–dollar defence contract to build submarines with the French — without actually telling the French.

One can hardly imagine, then, Mr Albanese picking up the telephone to consult, let alone advise Mr Macron, beyond the imperative of getting about 300 Australians out of France’s crisis-torn Pacific Island territory, a mere two-hour flight from Brisbane.

That’s a shame, frankly, because there’s considerable shared Franco-Australian concern about the fate of the beautiful archipelago. And the majority view among French specialists seems to be that the current French government has made major mistakes in its New Caledonia policy, after some 40 years of rather successful appeasement.

That appeasement was initiated by the late French Socialist Prime Minister, Michel Rocard, a political mentor of Mr Macron and a good friend of Australia. He ended the bloodshed of insurrectional riots in the 1980s, which also, significantly, were triggered by high-stakes electoral reform.

This he did by kick-starting a high-integrity process of self-determination, under the so-called Matignon Accords, with a big onus on relationship-building and the forging of a common identity. The Accords morphed into the Noumea Agreement of 1998, which was to conclude with a third and final independence referendum in December, 2021.

But when the indigenous Kanak population, struck by COVID — hundreds of deaths in a small population with unique rituals for burying the dead — asked for a modest 6 to 9-month delay before the last referendum was held, their request was flatly denied by the government in Paris.

This last May 13 decision, then — in Paris not Noumea — to pass controversial election reform, put a match to the current problems. The reform would mean, according to Kanak leaders, an additional 25,000 non-Indigenous voters on the electoral role, or about one voter in five, inevitably revolutionising the domestic political equation, yet further diminishing the size of the Indigenous vote.

In Australia, both sides of politics have tended to keep out of New Caledonian politics, but the off-line view has been that regional stability is important to Australia’s own security and a French presence is its virtual guarantee. Simply put, were France to go and civilian strife erupt, Australia would be expected to get involved as the region’s largest democracy. The related still pointier issue is, were France gone, would China move in? Your problem (France), would suddenly be our problem (Australia).

Except that it already is, to some extent. New Caledonia’s only real export is Nickel, used in electric vehicle batteries, and via the injection of Chinese money, Indonesia has become the world market leader. According to the US Institute of Peace, the majority of Indonesia’s nickel mines, with processing sites and supply arrangements, are now controlled by Chinese groups. Deliberate overproduction is stripping international competition and pushing down the market price — by about 45% in 2023.

Usually overlooked — quite separately from the above — is that there’s commonality between the colonial experience in Australia and that of France in New Caledonia, as cited by a high-profile French academic on national radio here this week.

Benoît Trépied, of the National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS), said that France had sought to establish a new society in New Caledonia exactly as the British did in Australia and New Zealand. In fact, he characterised the current strife less as a matter of electoral reform, than a post-colonial question still unresolved.

According to the United Nations, New Caledonia is a country still awaiting de-colonisation. But were France to grant it, would independence be the ultimate result? No, Trépied said, on Radio France. Kanaks would seek their own brand of “associative independence”, whereby, say, the justice system, currency and foreign policy would be reassigned to France, or at least French oversight. On the China question, he asked rhetorically: “Why would the Kanaky seek independence only to cede it to another colonial ruler?”

There would be yet further conversation for Mr Albanese in the domain of Australia’s own colonial experience. Except that there, well, we’ve just refused via the Voice referendum to recognise our Indigenous brethren in the national Constitution, or vote for the creation of a minimalist external advisory council.

One wonders at the make-up of modern Australia, the shape and contour of its history since European settlement, if Aboriginal and Torres Strait islanders still made up, as do indigenous Kanaks in New Caledonia today, 40 percent of the total population.

 

 

 

Sur la crise agricole française

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L’univers dépouillé du monde rural s’effiloche sous la caméra du réalisateur Raymond Depardon dans Profils paysans. Les routines de travail terriblement monotones, les dîners silencieux en famille, et surtout « l’attente stoïque d’une fin qui approche », comme les archives cinématographiques d’Harvard décrivent cette œuvre.

C’était trop pour moi lorsque je suis allé voir le premier volet de la trilogie au cinéma lors de sa sortie au début des années 2000. J’ai quitté la salle avant la fin de la projection, non pas parce que je n’étais pas touché, bien au contraire, mais car je n’ai tout simplement pas supporté d’être confronté à la métaphore de la mort lente de l’agriculture française, s’éternisant douloureusement pendant 90 minutes, sans la moindre trace de solution possible.

Lors des récentes manifestations, je suis resté sidéré devant les images télévisées d’agriculteurs déversant du lisier devant les bureaux des maires de leurs communes – pas de solution derrière ce geste. J’ai ensuite entendu parler des 400 millions d’euros de dégâts causés par ces mêmes agriculteurs sur les routes environnantes, que leurs impôts avaient probablement financées. Un ami français m’a laissé entendre que, dans les deux cas, j’avais certainement été envahi par une sorte de pragmatisme anglo-saxon, insinuant une certaine froideur, presque sans cœur, alors que les Français sont, quant à eux, toujours selon lui, “un peuple qui n’est pas particulièrement pragmatique”. (J’ai alors compris ce qu’impliquait l’approche anglo-saxonne comparativement au pragmatisme français). Après tout, je ne suis rien d’autre qu’un sujet du Roi, non seulement d’Angleterre mais également du lointain Commonwealth d’Australie, qui est encore aujourd’hui une monarchie constitutionnelle. Pour un républicain invétéré comme moi, cette petite boutade est assez gênante.

Mais l’enjeu porte peut-être moins sur le pragmatisme relatif que sur le fait que la France soit une culture très politique, alors que, l’Australie et les autres cultures anglo-saxonnes (comme la Nouvelle-Zélande, le Canada, l’Angleterre, au moins au Royaume-Uni, aux Etats-Unis) ne le sont pas. Pour les citoyens de la République française, il y a un parfum permanent de Révolution qui flotte toujours dans l’air. Et les élites vivent avec cette crainte persistante. En Australie, la politique sert essentiellement à faire fonctionner la société, afin que personne n’ait véritablement à penser à la politique afin de se concentrer davantage sur le travail, la famille et cette religion laïque qu’est le sport. Les Australiens peuvent donc être libres, comme le décrit Phillip Adams, un critique féroce de notre culture nationale de « chercher l’hédonisme au fond d’un tube de crème solaire ».

En France, la politique doit plutôt refléter ce qu’est la France : elle est au service de la beauté de sa langue, de ses paysages, de ses régions, de ses cuisines locales et de sa capitale, où règne sa classe politique. Paris est un lieu peuplé de personnes originaires d’autres régions, ou plus précisément de leurs régions respectives, avec leurs propres recettes, leurs paysages uniques et même leurs dialectes dont ils aiment parler longuement. Les politiques du gouvernement devraient donc viser à protéger, voire à privilégier ces agriculteurs, qui sont intrinsèquement liés à la cuisine, aux paysages et aux régions – aux terroirs. J’aurais peut-être réagi différemment si je n’avais vu l’ode de Depardon à la France rurale que récemment. Chacun peut reconnaître les codes du théâtre de rue dans le combat actuel, mais pas la souffrance qui se cache derrière. Quel « pragmatisme » permettrait de rester indifférent à ceux qui sont en première ligne des manifestations, à ces corps courbés, ces visages émaciés, ces yeux ternes et hagards après des années de réveil aux aurores?

En revanche, le combat actuel dure bel et bien depuis plus de vingt ans et nul ne peut nier le déclin relatif de l’agriculture française. Lorsque j’ai vu Profils Paysans, la France était le deuxième exportateur de produits agricoles dans le monde (le premier en Europe), elle occupe désormais la cinquième place (la troisième en Europe). Les enjeux qui existaient alors subsistent encore aujourd’hui : les exploitations sont trop petites, tout comme les troupeaux, les salaires sont trop bas et les subventions sont réparties sur l’ensemble du territoire national, afin que quelques bovins subventionnés puissent aller paître sur des terres qui seraient pourtant plus adaptées aux chèvres.

Peu après la sortie du dernier volet de la trilogie de Depardon en 2008, le magazine hebdomadaire L’Express a révélé que plus de 30 hommes politiques français recevaient plus de 50.000 euros chacun de paiements annuels en tant que bénéficiaires directs de la PAC. Parmi eux, le plus grand bénéficiaire, un sénateur également producteur de céréales a reçu 275.200 euros. Une nouvelle législation d’importance majeure (la Loi de modernisation de l’agriculture, LMA) avait pour objectif d’introduire un système de contrats de filières en vue de stabiliser, enfin, les revenus des agriculteurs dans ces marchés en constante fluctuation. La LMA encouragerait, selon Bruno Le Maire, ancien Ministre de l’Agriculture, les ventes locales (que l’on appelle communément le “circuit court”), en faveur des producteurs français face à la forte concurrence et aux importations internationales. De prime abord, on peut comprendre pourquoi les importations soulèvent des doutes, surtout si elles proviennent de pays situés en dehors de l’Union européenne. Quel est l’intérêt de mettre en œuvre des accords de libre échange alors que les producteurs locaux souffrent ? Cela s’explique bien au-delà du commerce international. Les liens entre démocraties de même sensibilité, mais aussi la langue et la culture sont des facteurs clés, comme ce fut le cas pour l’Accord de libre-échange avec le Canada (l’ALE, le Ceta). Le renforcement de l’influence géopolitique régionale de la France et de l’Europe compte également, comme l’a montré la mise en œuvre de l’Accord de libre-échange avec la Nouvelle-Zélande, après l’affaire avortée des sous-marins entre la France et l’Australie et l’AUKUS (partenariat de défense et de sécurité trilatéral entre l’Australie, le Royaume-Uni et les Etats-Unis). Il est également vrai que les accusations portant sur les fausses économies des Accords de libre-échange sont souvent infondées. Elles détournent l’attention habituellement prêtée aux véritables enjeux.

Depuis la conclusion du Ceta avec le Canada, l’une des plus grandes nations commerçantes du monde, les exportations européennes de produits agroalimentaires et de la mer vers le Canada ont en fait augmenté chaque année au cours des trois dernières années. Avec la France, le Canada est un importateur net de produits agricoles : les chiffres canadiens montrent un déficit de 1,1 milliards de dollars canadiens en 2023, soit environ 756 millions d’euros.

J’ai vu la presse française s’indigner à l’idée d’importer de l’agneau de première qualité de Nouvelle-Zélande. Il convient toutefois de rappeler que cela fait une décennie que la Nouvelle-Zélande n’a pas rempli ses quotas en matière d’importation d’ovins. De toute manière, les Néo-Zélandais ont tendance à vendre ailleurs la viande ovine qu’ils sont autorisés à vendre à l’Europe, car ils y obtiennent un meilleur prix. Leur droit à 38.000 tonnes complémentaires conformément à l’ALE est en fait un non-événement. Selon toute vraisemblance, il ne sera pas utilisé. Les Néo-Zélandais ont été autorisés à vendre 10.000 tonnes de viande bovine à l’Europe, une goutte d’eau dans l’océan, étant donné que les Européens mangent 6,5 millions de tonnes de bœuf chaque année. Pour ce qui est du fromage, c’est la même histoire. Il est possible d’acheter du roquefort à Auckland, et lorsque l’ALE entrera pleinement en vigueur, une variété de fromages néo-zélandais devraient être disponibles en Europe. Il s’agit toutefois d’une micro-niche. La Nouvelle-Zélande pourra avoir accès à 0,14 pour cent du marché européen, alors que l’Europe a déjà 15% du marché du fromage en Nouvelle-Zélande.

L’ALE présente de réels avantages pour l’agriculture néo-zélandaise, notamment pour les fruits du kiwi et le miel de Manuka, produit par des abeilles originaires de Nouvelle-Zélande. Toutefois, les éleveurs de bovins et les producteurs de lait ne pouvaient cacher une certaine déception face à la portée limitée de l’accord. Ne faisant partie d’aucune assemblée de nations comme l’Union européenne, le commerce international est un impératif pour les agriculteurs, étant donné que le marché intérieur est minuscule. Les droits de douane et les subventions ont été supprimés au milieu des années 80 et aujourd’hui aucun grand syndicat agricole ne revendique un retour à la protection. En supprimant les subventions aux engrais, les éleveurs d’ovins et de bovins ont réduit de moitié leur utilisation, mais la productivité est restée élevée.

Il est vrai que la France ne serait pas la France sans ses 365 fromages ou plus et sans la diversité de ses bovins de boucherie. Toutefois, il n’y a aucune possibilité que l’ALE avec la Nouvelle-Zélande, ou même le Ceta avec le Canada, menace l’existence même de l’agriculture française. Il faut de plus garder à l’esprit que quel que soit l’impact des petites (bien qu’importantes) avancées commerciales de l’ALE avec l’UE pour la Nouvelle-Zélande, son plus grand client pour les produits agricoles est la Chine, bien que Beijing soit plus loin de sa capitale Wellington que de Paris.

Si nous devions tirer une leçon de l’expérience néo-zélandaise ? Ils savent se focaliser sur leurs avantages comparatifs qui les distinguent, tout en améliorant l’efficacité opérationnelle au fil du temps. Aujourd’hui, le secteur agricole est l’un des plus productifs, des plus rentables et des plus respectueux de l’environnement au monde.

Il est d’ailleurs révélateur de constater que la Nouvelle-Zélande ne vend quasiment pas de porc à la Chine, car les Néo-zélandais n’exportent quasiment pas de viande porcine. Les cochons mangent des graines et il pleut toute l’année en Nouvelle-Zélande. Ces conditions conviennent parfaitement au pâturage de bovins et d’ovins, mais pas pour la culture des céréales. Les Néo-Zélandais ont donc tendance à importer leur porc depuis l’Europe, essentiellement d’Allemagne, d’Espagne et de Pologne.

Australia, a Paradise Of The South? Only for some

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AVoice referendum “no” vote victory – as current opinion polling suggests – would deal a major blow to Australia’s image abroad as “a big warm country full of friendly people.”

This bit of the international narrative about Australia we like because we tend to see ourselves in these terms. But also because, at least since Paul Hogan’s Crocodile Dundee, it puts thousands of tourists on airplanes bound for Australia every year.

Protests, riots: is France still a good place to live?

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A joke on social media currently is that, if you can avoid the civilian unrest, France is still a great place to live: for the food, for the wine, and for the retirement at 64. Millions of Europeans plan to emigrate.

If you’ve seen images this week of black-clad young men running poles into Paris shop windows, and sworn you heard that the trigger was a plan to raise the retirement age to 64, you heard right. It is currently 62 in France. But economists say the reform, in stages to 2030, won’t balance the pension budget by that target date anyway …

A tale of two rugbies

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Frankly, it’s a little embarrassing. To read breathless Australian media copy about the triumph of Australian rugby league in the just-concluded Rugby League World Cup, which of course, we won. Where’s the human interest in a virtual foregone conclusion?

Australia’s taken the Paul Barrière Trophy 12 times, been in every cup final bar one since 1954. Only one other country, England, has any kind of track record (three WC wins). The Kiwis have won it once. Where’s the high drama that comes with great sport in beating, as we did this edition, little Fiji by 30-odd points, Italy by 60, or our Scottish brethren, 84-nil?

It must be exciting like watching the French national football Ligue 1: Paris Saint-Germain have won eight of the last ten years. One thinks of Eric Cantona’s comment about Brazilian mega star Neymar moving from Barcelona to PSG. “He will be playing games against [lowly club side] Lorient and [even more lowly] Guingamp,” he told London’s Financial Times. “How is it possible? To be a great player and go . . . somewhere . . . (like that).” A little as if Michael Jordan had quit the Chicago Bulls for the Harlem Globetrotters.

I haven’t seen a game of rugby league from go to woe in years, could hardly name a player (younger than Paul Vautin; well, Wally Lewis, Mal Meninga and Jonathan Thurston, but not many more). Yet I was able to tell my Franco-German wife, who has some awareness of Union but has never heard of League, that we’d win the League World Cup before the first tackle was even made. Why? Because we almost always do.

My vintage is the great era of the late ‘70s, players like Graham Eadie, Bobby Fulton, Arthur Beetson, Teddy Goodwin, Vautin of course. When a Lock Forward, then still number 8, could be lanky and one the best players in the game (Parramatta’s Ray Price). Steve Knight, the Adonis-like centre who played for Manly, Wests and Balmain, taught me and my lily-livered mates “Physical Education”, including a kind of composite rugby, at Davidson High School in the northern suburbs of Sydney. We dutifully called him, “Sir”.

His patience with our quivering non-commitment, was iron-clad until, well, it would break. And he’d come running at us with the ball, shouting, “Tackle me, son!”, as we scattered in all directions like mice. (One counter strategy was to throw the pill in the air, go to ground, and cover your head.)

So I have rugby league history. State of Origin didn’t have the gravitas it does now by all accounts, but the height of a Sunday night sporting ritual in the suburbs was to sit down to dinner with the family, and League commentator Rex Mossop.

An exception was made to the golden rule in our house that dinner was not to be eaten in front of the tele, because Dad also wanted to see the match. I still play the original version of the program theme song on Spotify and You Tube, surely one of the most exhilarating themes in the history of sport on the box: “Theme from Shaft”, by thorax-busting Canadian trumpeter, Maynard Ferguson.
(http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCu9zRflDcw)

Is international sport about winning or being part of it? The former, truly, but depending on who you’re winning against and the circumstances thereof. I didn’t see a moment of the Kangaroos but will be watching the Socceroos. This will be with my wife and Paris-born kids.

The most likely outcome is that we play our three pool games and fly home. But you never know. Between 1974 and 2006 we didn’t make the World Cup at all, of course. And to return as David to the Goliaths of France and Germany, and Brazil — now that is real human drama. In 2018, the great story was Iranian-born Daniel Arzani’s brilliant arrival, this time that we’ve got three guys in the Squad of Sudanese origin (Awer Mabil, Garang Kuol and Thomas Deng). Mabil was born and raised on a Kenyan refugee camp.

Can’t the best of our Kangaroos just transmute into Wallabies and play Rugby Union, a proper international game? I tell friends here that as long ago as the 1960s the Boston Globe newspaper was telling its readers that Australia was the world’s greatest sporting nation. Football is inevitably raised in conversation, and I’m politely told something like, “But you’re strong in Rugby”. Almost no-one has ever heard of Rugby League.

There’s a web site now. “Greatest Sporting Nation in the world” puts us at six behind France and Germany. The site was congratulating Australia for winning the World Cup last weekend (though well down the page). Or might those congratulations more rightfully have gone to runners-up, Samoa, for their beautiful journey? Anyway, fortunately, there was no highlighting of that win against Scotland.

Lessons from the French sub snub

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One, we misread what the deal was all about…
… And two, a little bit of common courtesy, creative thinking and respectful, intelligent dialogue wouldn’t have gone astray.

Together apart: with no majority, Macron has to rethink his and France’s future

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The metaphorical victory trumpets are sounding for almost all French political parties after the weekend legislative elections — except Emmanuel Macron’s depleted movement, Ensemble (Together), that is. It took a blasting from both the far right and left, to the point that it may now be hard to keep the presidential show on the road.

Macron was comfortably reelected president two months ago, but on Sunday he lost his absolute majority in such spectacular terms that he’ll have to rearrange and substantially recast his program for the next five years. But how and with whom?

Crazy world of politics as Macron’s challenges move from Right to Left

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If you were an alien from beyond the planets suddenly arriving in France, you’d be witness to some of the Earth’s most extraordinary landscape and architecture. And some of its most dramatic, convoluted politics.

Seven weeks ago, French President Emmanuel Macron won re-election against Marine Le Pen, the head of a party, which is really a family dynasty, known as the far-right Rassemblement National (National Rally). On Sunday, Macron is facing the final vote in parliamentary elections he needs to win to govern effectively against, notably, a new group and its far-left leader, Jean-Luc Mélenchon.

Even Earthlings foreign to France can be mystified and fatigued by the machinations of the electoral system. After Macron’s two-round re-election in the présidentielle, the législatives ask voters to return to the ballot box for an excruciating third and fourth time to choose their MPs. Increasingly, they don’t. The Abstention rate for the first round on June 12 was 52.49%, a record high.

Freshly re-minted as president, Macron pledged to come down from the mount of the Élysée Palace in Paris to the regions to be “with you” (the people, his election slogan), but has made few announcements and taken no new major policy initiatives. At the same time, his key lieutenants have slammed the Mélenchon unity ticket that millions of people have already voted for.

The “Nupes” as they’re known — like nuptials, relating to mating and marriage — won more votes than the president’s centrist “Ensemble !” grouping in voting last weekend (that third time at the ballot box). So the question now is whether “Ensemble !” can secure a clear majority in the run-off on June 19.

Since the presidential election, the big political story in France has been Mélenchon’s fancy footwork in pulling together the left-wing parties as “Nupes”: socialists; greens; communists and his own anti-capitalists. But he’s not only succeeded in formalising the union, he’s managed to impose his views upon it. As a French news magazine editor rued last week, what used to be known as the far left is now just “The Left”.

That reality means that France is taking itself further out on a limb. Germans defied the idea that social-democracy is incapable of meeting Europe’s current challenges when Olaf Scholz was chosen by delegates to succeed Angela Merkel as chancellor last year, alongside the centre-left in power now in Spain, Portugal, Malta and every Scandinavian country, in Italy, Belgium and Luxembourg as part of coalitions and, beyond Europe, in Canada, New Zealand and Australia since last month.

To be fair, a unity ticket of the left is clearly desired by many French voters. Perhaps the left in France is like the left elsewhere, only more so (thus more ‘authentic’?): always a plurality of forces, opposing views and rapprochements. And for these legislative elections, at least, disparate elements have managed to unite. Before the poll, a key consideration was whether the radicalised “Nupes” could attract moderate left voters, and the answer, so far, is yes.

The problem is that areas of genuine convergence are hard to see. Such a big stretch across vastly different policy positions looks like sheer contrivance; on energy and the environment, the moderate left and the communists want civil nuclear kept long-term; Mélenchon wants it abandoned by 2045.

That would presumably mean shutting down some 56 reactors. On foreign policy, things are worse; the democratic left has been pro-German, pro- Anglo-American; Mélenchon’s far left is closer to Russia, acutely Eurosceptic and anti-NATO.

An opposing view runs that the socialists and greens ought to have the political spine to reconstruct (as in Germany) or enter into an alliance with Macron to directly influence his programme for the next five years. Instead, their choice has been to throw their lot in with the performance art of Monsieur Mélenchon, who’s priority has been to denounce Monsieur Macron.

Unlikely to win a majority — call it their pious hope — Mélenchon’s “Nupes” look set to become the first party of opposition, albeit a fractured one. This would in itself mark a considerable shift in French politics, where the far right has been the major recent opposition force.

The most likely outcome is that confusion will be added to confusion, France’s problems getting worse as the margin for manoeuvre in the face of them is narrowing.  French politics has reached the stage where voters complaining Macron hasn’t done enough vote to diminish his capacity for action.

ON MACRON’S ELECTION POLICY LAUNCH

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Fascinating, no? Given the fast approach of the federal election in Australia. Considering the impact French President Emmanuel Macron, standing for re-election himself in three weeks, has had on Australian politics in the past six months.

Seldom does foreign affairs have much bearing on domestic politics, unless there’s been some kind of major embarrassment or breakdown. When Macron said Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison lied to him over the dumping of a $90 billion contract to build submarines with the French — something the PM denied — Australian politics shifted in a stroke, from the argy-bargy of the parliamentary bear pit, to the deeper issues of ethics, reputation and character.

But there was further Australian resonance when Macron, 44, rolled out his election time policy program last week. Like Morrison, Macron must convince voters to vote for him again — but why? And to do what? Like Australian Opposition leader, Anthony Albanese, Macron is originally from the party-political left and needs to attract the conservative electorate to win. (Macron was a Socialist Party Finance Minister before setting up his centrist En Marche party in 2016.)

Macron’s policy launch lasted almost four hours, the President using very few notes or talking points before 320 media. Some 90 minutes of exposé was followed by two-and-a-half hours of rigorous Q&A with reporters. “There must be substance,” he said at one point, the room beginning to flag. “We’re talking about the next five years.”

According to opinion-polling, a second five-year term is highly likely. Macron’s de facto European leadership since Russia invaded Ukraine, at the head of the only continental European nuclear and military power, has made him a clear favourite to win after two rounds of voting on April 10 and 24. At 30% of voting intentions currently, he’s 12-15% ahead of his nearest rival, Far Right stalwart, Marine Le Pen.

Macron won in 2017 pitching himself as “Neither of the Left or Right”, turning on the rhetorical line: “At the same time”. It’s still essentially his pitch in 2022.  To fight inequality “at the root”, while embracing economic liberalism. To raise the retirement age to 65, alongside a 50% hike in child support for single mothers. To combat discrimination in companies via a system of “testing” for firms with 5000 employees or more. To strengthen France’s independence, notably in defence and energy by rebooting the national reliance on nuclear power, at the same time as boosting renewables.

For critics, Macron’s would-be to-ing and fro-ing makes him an illegible knit of contradictions, and a soulless globalist polyglot, to boot. He was born and raised until the age of 16 in Amiens, the principal city of ‘Australian France’ by the way, about a half-hour’s drive from Villers-Bretonneux in the Somme. But he’s not considered anchored there, has no established political base there or made any real attempt to ‘localise’ his image there.

Of the policy launch, right-wing Le Figaro newspaper was impressed by the minutiae, by Macron’s phenomenal grasp of detail. But his method in fact reflected the kind of advice routinely given to foreign negotiators working with the French: emphasise the big picture.

“In France, preparation means, above all, having command of a coherent argument founded on faultless logic,” according to German management consultant, Sergey Frank. “Avoid the hard-sell and any marketing gimmicks. Instead, your presentation should be sober, well-founded and rigorous”.

One wonders at the rigour of Macron’s nuclear program, however, based on the construction of six nuclear reactors with a further eight under study, even though the first of the EPR next generation reactors, massive concrete cathedrals, is ten years over schedule and a staggering 10 billion euros over budget.

One wonders, too, at the twists and turns that led Macron to say Morrison lied to him over the submarines (not to say the suitability of Morrison’s subsequent approach: “I’m not going to cop a sledging,” the PM said).

But Macron may not, in fact, have been much offended. Beyond the idea that the Australian PM was unhappy, Macron may well have asked himself — or advisers — about the meaning of a vernacular Australian expression like, ‘copping a sledging’. One translation motor suggests, “not to go sledding”. Perplexing for Macron, no doubt, given that he’s known to enjoy winter holiday skiing on the slopes.

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