Mining and Morality

The mining industry has been a significant part of the Australian economy since soon after white settlement. From the early gold rushes to today's multifaceted operations, people have profited from the valuable materials which lie beneath our nation's soil.

In recent years, the mining industry has occupied an increasing amount of the media's attention, as we learn more about the people who own the huge mining companies, consider the industrial relations issues surrounding the safety, supply and demand of the workforce, and worry about the impact mining has on our fragile ecosystems. (For more information, see Get Up's recent video on mining in and around the Great Barrier Reef.)

I believe the mining industry carries a higher moral culpability than other industries. Of course, all industries, from manufacturing to health care, have ethical responsibilities; none are exempt. However, the mining industry takes resources from the very so-called "golden soil" that is Australia and profits from their sale. Unlike crops, minerals and ores cannot be regrown: once sold, they are lost to the rest of Australians forever (unless it is sold within Australia, though it is my understanding that the majority of mined resources end up overseas).

The fact that the mining industry profits from selling something which rightfully belongs to all Australians places a higher moral burden on those companies. As I type this, I guess I realise that when it comes to mining, I am something of a socialist: I would prefer that mines are owned and operated by the government, with profits directly benefiting all Australians ... hmm, there's an interesting thought!

Idealism aside, the mining giants are becoming fat off a resource which is non-renewable and, uniquely, belongs to all Australians. The should therefore be held very accountable for their impact on the environment, their industrial relations policies, and their financial responsibilities to the other citizens of Australia.

Stationery, and the meaning of life

In the ebb and flow of stationery which punctuates my life, today I have an excess of blue pens but no pencils.

Which is a shame, because I need to write some appointments in my diary, and I always use pencil in my diary.

Isn't our existence gloriously ephemeral? The objects which surround me come and go; the people I plan to meet, the things I plan to do, are subject to change.

There was a time, during my teenage years and early twenties, when I think this frightened me. If life couldn't be pinned down and made concrete, if we can't write our future in ink, then what do we have to cling to? As humans, we need some sort of certainty, some answer to the problem of "what's it all about?" The solutions I used earlier in my life are different to the ones find now. I guess I'd describe myself as an existentialist, interested and even grounded in the very nature of what it is to be human, finding meaning in the uniqueness of the human condition and my own experience.

But that doesn't help me pencil in my appointments ...

A Summer Morning's Run

What could be more pleasant, more gratifying than to be mindful in one's body while out running early on a summer's day?

Feeling the cool air, pleasant despite the promise of heat to come, moving across your skin ...

Sensing the breeze lifting the tiny hairs on your forearms ...

Pulsing in time to the running-rhythms of foot to pavement, breath in/breath out, heartbeats ...

Inhaling the fresh scent of grass, and earth, and blossoms ...

... and anticipating a day of test cricket and sewing.

This is all good.

Summer Joys

These are the things I'm enjoying this summer:

1. Test Cricket! And not just our trip to the MCG on Boxing Day:



but also the drama of the Sydney Test, enjoyed via radio and TV, and enhanced through interactions with friends near and far on facebook

2. Finally getting around to re-upholstering our diningroom chairs. This is indicative of how they looked this time last week:

Part-way through the process, the original ugly 1970s brown fabric can be seen:

The contrast between old and new is marked:





and I'm very happy with the final result:

3. Reading! I'm so excited that Dead Men's Boots was returned to my local library today, so I can pounce on it - I'm looking forward to seeing what Felix Castor gets up to next. I've also enjoyed re-reading the Narnia books and browsing through some positive psychology stuff, as well as catching up on issues of New Scientist I didn't get through last year.

4. Eating - summer specials like bananas microwaved until they begin to caramelize, then mixing in low fat Greek yoghurt for a sweetly tart treat; melon for breakfast, and a perennial favourite - stir-fried wombok - for tea

5. Watching TV - as the cricket allows! Catching up on the third series of Breaking Bad on DVD, and taping the re-runs of Doctor Who to savour again.

Work will pick up again next week, but this week is still summertime. Joy!

C. S. Lewis: meaningful, subversive children's fiction

The Narnia books have been part of my life since early childhood, when I heard them at my father's knee - and then, again, when he re-read them for my first sister's benefit; and yet again for the second sister; though by the time my baby brother came along, I think I considered myself too old for listening to stories read aloud.

I'm re-reading the books this week, for the first time in many years. It's such fun to revisit these childhood favourites!

It's so long since I read them that I bring fresh eyes to the reading. I am charmed by ownership inversion inherent the subversive title The Horse and His Boy, and ponder again our notions of ownership, and in what other ways we are possessed by things we consider we own. I wince at the gender-gestalt of the books, in which boys and men and young girls are capable of nobility and high acts, while older girls - presumably approaching menarche - are prone to hysterics and foolishness. I can read the closing chapters of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader without crying (it took me some years, as a child, to realize it made me tearful because it allegorized death - C. S. Lewis speaks to our hearts) and also explore the richness of the book's other symbolism about the trials a person may face during life's course. I note how many fantasy prototypes have their roots in Lewis' tales, and my hypothesis that the special effects capacity of the film industry influences the imagery used in speculative fiction is debunked by his witches morphing into serpents, trees taking their human-like forms, and so forth.

Lewis' writing is so vivid and deep it warrants re-reading - even these, his 'tales for children' - and I predict I'll be dipping into The Screwtape Letters before the end of the week.