Free Speech and Self-Criticism

There's a difference between self-censorship and self-criticism, but a very fine one; indeed, the distinction vanishes if you don't know how to engage in the latter. Freedom of speech--or simply "freedom!"--is the focus of public debate in the last few days.

Some have argued that, in light of the Charlie Hebdo assassinations, the Racial Discrimination Act s18C should be utterly repealed, baldly stating that Charlie Hebdo could not be published in this country under its aegis.

Doubly wrong.

First, such a publication would be exempt under s18D as an artistic enterprise; second, Islam is not a race, so the RDA does not, in fact, apply. Such arguments are manipulative and self-serving.

Freedom of speech really only benefits those with access to the media (as in, the plural of medium, the means by which messages and information are conveyed). Not all media are equal. A blog on the internet read by dozens, maybe hundreds, is not a medium on par with, say, a newspaper or a television station (what we usually think of when we read the word media).

And arguments that "the new media" will supplant the old ignores the fact that a blogger just starting out does not have the same level of capital as a media mogul, who can transform his or her business model, however incrementally, in the new age of e-commerce. Money is still the medium of the age.

I do not support any change to s18C, not because it promotes censorship, self- or otherwise, but because it is one of the few, rather brittle planks promoting self-criticism. We need self-criticism in a world where any opinion can and is offered, quite unsolicited, on the Internet, a medium both liberating and tyrannising at once.

Self-criticism is not about second guessing yourself, but about adopting a posture towards your own ideas in a way a literary or social critic might towards his or her subject. Indeed, we are all critics--albeit critics of society and everything that crosses our path but that isn't actually us.

We can't be immune from critique, and the sooner we adopt ourselves as our primary subject, the sharper our perception will be, and the more insightful our opinions become.

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Speech exists in a finite space; and although it is the cornerstone of a free democratic society, it is not all-pervasive in our private or--importantly--our public lives.

We must consider the economics of public discourse, where policy and institutional choices are formulated, in order to fully grasp the role of free speech.

Charlie Hebdo is a form of satire, offering humorous and provocative critiques of various aspects of the culture and society. One may question its tastefulness, and even how much it is actually satire, but in the Australian context it would be exempt as an artistic enterprise, so for all intents and purposes satire it is.

But Charlie Hebdo does not partake in that part of the public discourse relating to policy or institutional (governmental) choices. At best, it shines a light on something, mocking it, drawing attention to it (and to itself), establishing this or that subject of ridicule as a legitimate target for critique.

What satire does, to put it simplistically, is to erode the barriers that prevent certain things being discussed at all. Sadly, in the aftermath of the recent tragedy, they have achieved something close to their goal, with many news outlets emboldened to publish the forthcoming and very poignant front page of the latest issue (see below).

So, while satire rightly razes sacred idols, reducing them to the sediment of democratic argument, satire is not a part of the decision-making process at an institutional level. Almost always, it is on the outside looking in, a viral messenger of modern democracy.

Self-criticism is the necessary precursor of decision-making, and our decision-makers, our politicians, should be expert self-critics. (Perhaps I should leave you to giggle at this point.)

Here in Australia we can think of many politicians who lack, not so much an internal censor as an internal critic. It is one thing to have an opinion, but it is a higher order function to display reasoned judgement in one's policy offerings, which so many Australian senators ("elders," etymologically) seem to have trouble with.

Self-criticism ought to lead to wisdom, but really it starts with adhering to the adage "think before you speak." The internet rarely promotes thoughtfulness, and that is to the detriment of our public discourse.

It is detrimental because we have only a finite space for public discourse--discourse, quite separate from satire and other forms of expression, in which policy is propounded, decisions made.

Quite simply, we cannot deal with or act upon every issue or special interest. We are, in our capacity as advocates for our causes, competing for attention and resources, and were we to attempt to address all such causes in accordance with their merit (as presumed by their advocates) we would have no time for anything else.

Discourse, conceived as a portioning of time and space for public matters, is a finite resource; our attention spans are limited, as is our capacity and our goodwill for dealing with each other's shit.

The preciousness of this resource should not be underestimated. It has its own economy, which many seek to game or corrupt to their own ends. It is not a resource without structure. And its structure is, by and large, arbitrary, subject to the same analytics and arguments that take place within its space.

(In other words, public discourse and its economy is itself always a valid subject of debate. The height of free speech, I would argue, is the right to argue about what is and is not covered by free speech in the public discourse, for without this very meta-democratic right democracy cannot exist.)

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Opponents of s18C, and the RDA more broadly, are well within their rights to call for its repeal--but their argument cannot reside on absolute grounds, for there are none in what is at bottom a self-referential exercise: we are arguing about the rules we want to apply to ourselves; the only absolute is that we will continue arguing amongst and about ourselves.

The need for structure in the public discourse, however, is persistent, for without it there is only violence as a means of settling issues. We must eschew violence totally; it allows for nothing but itself, in public or in private life.

Freedom of speech, then, must exist within a scaffold of public discourse, and self-criticism is a necessary precursor to it. s18C is a plank in that scaffold that promotes self-criticism. It is not onerous, unless your aims are disingenuous. At the very least, if your aim is disingenuous, it should give you pause for thought, an opportunity to reflect on your opinion and to understand its consequences, to think before you speak.

Without this scaffold, those who already have privileged access to various media (again, plural for medium), assert their own structure on the public discourse. And that, ultimately, is the point of the attack on the Racial Discrimination Act.

In a democracy, we are forever in a battle over institutional structures, looking for any advantage, and where possible to entrench it in those structures, shaping society for the next generation. We are, perhaps frustratingly, engaged in an open-ended and society-wide experiment in self-criticism.

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Charlie Hebdo:

A Letter to a Senator

Dear Senator Muir, 

I write to you as a concerned university educator from Western Sydney. I have followed recent events in federal politics in relation to this government's education policies closely, and have decided for the first time in my life to write to a federal politician to express my concerns. I will write to others as well, because I believe this government has got its priorities wrong on education, especially those policies regarding the university sector. I teach at the University of Western Sydney, and I see firsthand the benefits of a tertiary education, teaching students who are the first in their families ever to go to university, teaching students from low socio-economic or non-English speaking backgrounds, and teaching mature age students who come to us to get a new start or new direction in life. 

UWS already does a fantastic job with students from backgrounds that, historically, have missed out on the university experience, and it concerns me gravely that the proposed reforms will further hamstring institutions like UWS to the benefit of those universities who already benefit greatly from their history and their financial and social reserves. Being only 25 years old, the intangible value of "prestige" is not something we have accumulated; what we do have is a dedicated workforce of highly trained and well-educated academics and teachers. I grew up in Western Sydney; I was educated here from primary school to my PhD; and I teach here. And I wish to go on teaching here, knowing the benefits that higher education can provide. I want to continue that tradition of making a difference through education for people who, for so long, were overlooked. 

I benefited from the current funding regime, and I still have my debt and am paying that off like millions of other graduates. The previous generation of graduates, the current generation of leaders, benefited from an even more generous system, and the hypocrisy of some statements I have seen has been unbearable. It is my firm belief that the reforms this government proposes will not only limit the capacity of UWS and similar institutions to change lives through education, but undo much of what has been gained for the people of Western Sydney since this university burst into life 25 years ago. You hold an important and powerful position in our parliament, one that many would be envious of, with a chance to make a difference in the lives of other Victorians, and indeed many other Australians. 

I am a member of no political party, and I never have been. I am a member of a union--the NTEU--because I believe in the power of collective action. We are strongest when we stand together against those forces that seek to divide us. And I believe the actions of this government seek to entrench division through reforms such as the deregulation of university fees, which can only result in the raising of fees or the reduction of resources for those who rely on education as a social investment in their future, not merely as an exclusive engine of privilege for social or political advancement. 

As a citizen who believes in the fair go, and who believes that the chief means of achieving the fair go is open and unfettered access to education, I urge you to reject these reforms, and to hold this government to account for the lack of transparency about their agenda in this regard before the previous election. If this government really believed it has a mandate for such drastic change, then it should take these policies to the next election, and let the people decide. 

Sincerely yours, 

Gavin William Smith

Dogmatism and Democracy

I haven't blogged in a while--I've been rather busy with other things, like earning money to live. It's hard out there in the real world! But I thought I would return to my blog just to articulate a few ideas, in part for myself, but also to share with others who might be struggling to articulate their own ideas at this moment in time. Right now, we are essentially at war with Islamic State (IS), or ISIS, or ISIL, or whatever they're called--"essentially," but not declared as such. There are real horrors being perpetrated by terrorists half a world away, and those horrors are being visited upon us here in Australia by proxy through the news and various propaganda exercises from our government and law enforcement agencies. I say "propaganda" because I am not entirely convinced that there isn't just a little manipulation going on behind the scenes to make political hay while the sun shines. But that's my conspiratorial cross to bear; others may bear it too, but in the absence of proof we cannot make definitive claims. Suspicions are one thing, but evidence is always required. Moving on.

What is most immediately troubling in the wake of recent events here at home is the rising tide of anger and xenophobia directed toward Australians of the Islamic faith. There are those that will seize upon any opportunity to tear at the wounds of division, especially if there are political gains to be made. Some people just want to watch the world burn, but there are others who want to set parts of it alight, preferring to rule in ashes than coexist in sunshine. The issue is not Islam, or any other religion. Truth be told, I am an atheist and would rather no religion exist; of course, we can imagine the world would turn out no different to the one we have now. For the issue that plagues us, and has always plagued us, and will always plague us, is dogmatism. But not simply dogmatism in the form of trenchant belief; I mean the mean the kind of dogmatism that helps us to rationalise an even more fundamental urge, what Nietzsche calls "the will to power."

A dogmatic belief of any religious or political persuasion merely provides a veneer of consistency for the raw and brutal urge to control others. In Western democracies we seek to mitigate this urge, this will, through the checks and balances of the democratic process; it can be ugly, but the alternative is infinitely worse. Even in a democracy there are those who hold dogmatic views, whether of a progressive or conservative incline. There is a little bit of fascism in all our natures, whether we care to admit it or not--we think we know better than others, and some of us are more willing to say so than most. In a democracy, we talk about political vision, a vision or a plan for the future; but this is just a watering down of the fascist impulse. Any politician with a vision must convince enough people, first people in his party then the general population, that his or her vision is the right one for the nation--at least until the next election. It doesn't always work out well, but that's why we have the next election. Democracy provides us with a non-violent corrective mechanism to counterbalance the naked ambition of those struck by the will to power, the urge to dominate others.

Dogmatists don't like democracy, but where it is widely supported by the public and adequate public institutions they will merely, silently begrudge its existence. Democracy requires us to forgive others the failings they may or may not have, to be permissive, and ultimately to leave others alone. You may disapprove of someone's lifestyle choices, but if those lifestyle choices are non-violent and non-restrictive (that is, not restricting of others in their lifestyle choices as a result of your lifestyle choices), then, in the words of a recently famous song, you need to "let it go." To be sure, in a democracy everyone is entitled to their opinion, to speak it freely and to be judged on it in turn. Most people will be quite happy to share their thoughts with you, even if you didn't ask for it; but then most people move on with their lives. Not so with dogmatists and enthusiastic fascists.

Let's be blunt: IS are enthusiastic fascists who justify their actions through dogma. In basic propositional terms: If the belief (the dogma) is correct, then any action in furtherance of that belief is also right. What is hidden, however, is the more fundamental premise: If I hold this belief, then it is right; and if it is right, then I am justified in taking any action in furtherance of the belief that I hold. What is at issue is not so much the belief but the believer and the way they use their beliefs to cover up their true intentions. A religious or political belief is merely a form of capital the possessor uses to both justify and further their position of power. That capital can be shared, which increases the durability of that capital. In democratic politics, that capital is consolidated in the form of political parties; in religion, it is used to consolidate a religious organisation, the Catholic church being the most obvious example. Such organisations equip their members with resources and moral and intellectual support. They also present their members with mechanisms for acquiring positions of power. Consider this: could any political leader rise to the position of Prime Minister or President without the support of party mechanisms? Consider also what a Prime Minister or President most do in order to gain the support of that party. We often talk of our political leaders in terms of their "ambition." Consider what this actually means! The ambition for what? Quite simply, it is the ambition to make decisions, ostensibly on behalf of others, but in reality to make decisions that affect, and in many cases control, the behaviour (the choices, decisions) of others.

Things are a little different with religious organisations--there is no democracy in a church or a mosque or a synagogue. Behaviour is controlled by religious edicts. The rise to power is also a little different, but the mechanisms are not too dissimilar to political parties. To rise to power in any religious organisation one must not simply reflect the beliefs of other members, but act as a cipher or spruiker of the faith. Like any leader, a religious leader must adopt the mantle of the "I" in the hidden premise. This, to my mind, is the Hobbesian truth underpinning the power structures that form in relation to human activities. Any power structure ultimately lends itself to the formation of a cult of personality, and this is as true in politics as it is in religion. Power flows from the top down, presenting a structure for vassals (those delegated power by the leader, the Leviathan), and a path for those vassals toward greater power.

In a democracy, such a power structure is supposed to be independent of the political parties vying for power; that power structure, perhaps most idealistically embodied by a constitution, is meant to at least protect the public against the excesses of Hobbesian-Nietzschean personal cultists. It can, of course, all go wrong. IS simply presents a new power structure, quite different from those established over the last 100 years, for personal cultists to carve out their own domain. The dogmatism of IS is merely a veneer, a shiny new thing to attract the young and impressionable who do not yet understand the urges that drive them to act in the ways they do. The young believe, not understanding that they privilege their beliefs above all others, not because their beliefs are right, but because they believe them; they are the "I" that believes and justifies the belief on behalf of their own will to power, their own ambitions.

We project the believing "I" on to a leader, because under that leader we might exercise our own rights to power. We see this in democracy, most vociferously after an election, when the victors crow over the carcass of their defeated enemies. The cult of personality is strongest then; the world is suddenly a better place, the future brighter--at least for the believers. For the others, those who believe differently, the nation is ruined and we must stop at nothing to rectify the obvious mistake. "Nothing," that is, except violence or anything undemocratic, or anything likely to cause lasting damage to the country. That's the important difference between a democratic and a dogmatic power structure. Life will never be perfect, no matter who's in charge; but at least we don't go to war every time we disagree about something. And we sure as hell don't decapitate fellow human beings for disagreeing with us.

Critical Literacy and "Merit"

Recently, there has been much consternation about the make up of the Australian Federal Cabinet and its lack of female representation. Many words have already been spilled over this issue; my concern here is the appeal to the concept of "merit" as the primary defence of this inequity. There is a lesson to be learned here in terms of understanding arguments, or in this case a counter-argument, that are predicated on a single, crucial term. That is, it provides us with a lesson in critical literacy. 

Any argument that is predicated on a central term can always be subverted. It is the person, or group, who use the term that must define it, and it is your right to challenge that definition. In fact, if you don't challenge their definition, you are giving up half the intellectual battle. The argument in the case of the Federal Cabinet is simple: people are appointed on merit; therefore, those who have missed out were judged not to be meritorious enough. There is only one woman in the Cabinet, therefore she was the only woman deemed meritorious. The whole argument is predicated on the notion of "merit." 

But what does merit mean? If we take the basic dictionary definition - "something that deserves or justifies reward or commendation" - who could possibly object? The problem, however, is not definitional. Definitions are useful, but they are the base level of saliency for any word or term. What is important is its application, and the understanding of those who apply the concept of merit in any given situation. The question is "who decides what is meritorious?" If the ones making the decision are all, say, middle-aged white men, do they really have an understanding of merit beyond their own background? 

One could retort that there is an objective measure, somewhat tautologically: merit is what merit does. But if there be such an objective measure, then it would be easy to articulate. If it is, indeed, objective, then everyone should be able to read it and understand. Unless, of course, only the meritorious can perceive merit, but then we end up begging the question. The fact is, the definition of a term, and the power and right to define it, cannot rest upon a tautology, let alone a blatant fallacy.

The question remains: who decides what is meritorious? The entire argument is specious because it is predicated on a single concept, buttressed by supporting arguments or evidence. This is the common defence of the status quo. The only way for the concept of merit to achieve any level of validity is for it to be tested, abstractly and concretely. We test to notion of "justice" in the courts everyday. We make mistakes even there; we learn, and we make appropriate changes. The hope is that we improve our understanding, and ultimately our application of justice. There is an entire industry built around testing the notion of justice: lawyers. Justice is a much more fundamental concept than merit; why should we not apply the same scrutiny to the notion of merit, which can be seen as related to justice?

It is important not to let any significant term go unchallenged, especially if an argument is so reliant on just one. Those who seek to use that term as a premise for their argument must defend it; consensus is an illusion in these moments, and you should never grant consent to the use of a term or concept without proper scrutiny. These battles, which can seem pedantic, lie at the heart of our social and political life; it is only with critical literacy, the ability to break down an argument or an idea, that we can hope to wrest the debate away from charlatans and sophists. 

"Voting For": Against Electoral Cowardice

There's no such thing as a "vote against" a party or candidate; there is only a "vote for." You must vote for someone. To vote is an inherently positive thing; it has no negative or negating qualities. It is, as such, disingenuous to encourage others to vote against a party or candidate; it is patently not what occurs in the act of voting. The tension within this for/against dichotomy is most acute in two-party electoral systems. To vote against one party is, to put it simplistically, to vote for the other party. The peculiarities of the Australian electoral further exacerbate this for/against dichotomy.

At the Federal level, compulsory preferential voting is used. To put it briefly, every candidate on the ballot must be numbered, meaning that, even if you don't "vote 1" for either of the major parties, you must put one before the other in the number sequence or your vote doesn't count. So you end up having to vote Coalition or Labor in the end if you want your vote to count at all. I'm not going to debate the merits of the electoral system here, but the system highlights the importance of understanding that to vote is an inherently positive act; positive, that is, in that it must be given to someone (a party or candidate), it is never taken away. Mathematically speaking, voting is an act of addition, not subtraction.

I say it is disingenuous to encourage a misunderstanding of the act of voting, but I would go further and argue that it is a form of cowardice. Recently, the Sydney Telegraph used its front page to call for the Labor party to be kicked out, the title screamed "Kick This Mob Out!" (Read related story here.) Other pundits have expressed a similar sentiment. But a vote against Labor must be a vote for the Coalition, yet it is not often couched in such explicit terms. Perhaps it is out of fear of losing credibility by explicitly endorsing a party or candidate, a vain attempt at retaining some degree of objectivity. Once you endorse a party or candidate everything you say subsequently will be viewed through that prism; not only that, such an endorsement is an acknowledgement that your subsequent words will and can be viewed through that prism. There is no defence or deflection once you have acknowledged your bias, and this can be seen as giving up a strategic advantage.

It is cowardice to encourage a vote against a party, especially in a system where voting is compulsory and the form of voting is as onerous as ours. It is no bad thing to support or endorse a particular party, but when it is obfuscated in the manner that it so often is, behind outrage and indignation directed towards that other party, it is dishonest. If you wish to support a party then positively endorse them, because that is ultimately what voting is: a binding endorsement of a particular party, not a dis-endorsement of any other party.

Democratic Tension and the Australian Electoral System

The illusion of democracy is that it presents us with distinct choices; it does not. There will always be a ruling class which excludes the alternative options enough to limit the range of choices so as to render the impact of choice negligible. The only the complete absence of political parties could ensure genuine choice, but that is an impossibility. Human beings have always grouped together for mutual benefit; tribalism has many forms, from the primitive, to the symbolic, to the political. The essence of democracy is the contest between at least two tribes or partisan groups amongst the ruling class.

One might argue, then, that the ideal state, the state that most approximates the diversity of choice, is a multiparty system. This raises the problem of the tension between stability and diversity. In the absence of genuine choice, democracy resonates with the tension between the stability of governance and the diversity of representation. Multiparty democracies are notoriously unstable, while two-party democracies are notoriously fickle and stifling of difference. In the case of the former, governing alliances risk being undermined by fatal compromise between its participants (fatal, at least, to one of the parties), while the latter often promotes homogeneity, stifling internal dissent for the sake of stability.

There is no ideal circumstance in which parties or politicians come to power where human beings are concerned. At best, we can hope to manage the competing interests of the parties and the tributary groups they primarily represent through keeping them in a perpetual state of tension. In multiparty democracies, such tension is problematic because it may prove to be in a particular party's interest not to engage or compromise with other parties, thereby causing instability in the ever-fragile democratic state. In the two-party system it is almost mandatory not to engage or compromise with the only other competitor in the hope of gaining an outright majority (thereby rendering compromise unnecessary).

Whatever the system, an element of risk must be involved. Democracy is inherently risky; political parties must risk their enduring success, while the nation itself must risk social cohesion for the sake of democratic freedom. The U.S. electoral system represents the worst kind of two-party system, while many European nations, such as Greece, highlight the problems with a multiparty democracy. The U.S. system is moribund, remaining essentially unchanged for more than two centuries; the intransigence of the two major parties is entrenched, and, arguably, representative of a broader social divide in that country. Greece's electoral system is unwieldy, and often results in unstable governing coalitions, a pattern frequently repeated across Europe. Such irregular governance, it can be argued, has contributed to the economic instability of European nations, such as Greece, Italy, and Spain. This, obviously, is a far more complex point than my over-simplification.

The Australian electoral system, I believe, manages to navigate the pitfalls of either extreme relatively well - relatively well. Our system has evolved since Federation, usually with bipartisan and popular support. We have a House of Representatives elected along the lines of the Westminster tradition, as single-member electorates, while our Senate is elected proportionally, as multi-member electorates. Our Senators, furthermore, are elected to "double terms," twice as long as the term of an MP in the Lower House. The particulars of the electoral methods employed can, indeed, be debated, but what is important is the difference in the way the houses are constituted.

In the U.S. the two Houses of Congress are elected in roughly the same manner, with a few variations. Senators there are elected in a similar manner to Congressmen, with two exceptions. First, Senators serve a six-year term, not a two-year term. Second, there are two Senators per state, although Senators from the same state are never elected simultaneously, except in rare occurrences where there is a casual vacancy and the law in that particular state dictates a "special election" to fill the position (usually, casual vacancies are filled at the Governor's discretion). The Senate and the House tend to resemble each other, with the Senate "swinging" a little more slowly than the House from one side to the other.

As is evident, the U.S. Congress is ineffective, partly because of how it is constituted. There are two-parties, and there is no real impetus for compromise; they can just play games and wait for their turn in government. The U.S. Government has, in fact, closed down more than once because of the intransigence between the various arms of government. There is no mechanism for resolving deadlock within Congress, or between Congress and the White House. The two major parties in the U.S. never have to really risk anything; the only thing at stake is who controls the Treasury, and eventually voters get tired of the governing party and just want a change - sometimes "it's time" and there isn't much you can do about it.

The same kind of inertia does exist, to an extent, in Australia. We have two parties who swap seats every now and then. Our system does, however, allow for alternative parties to make their case. There is a rich history of minor political parties changing the political landscape in this country. I have discussed them to some degree here. Even minor political parties that didn't quite take off have been able to influence the discourse. The possibility of winning seats in the Senate (even in the Legislative Councils of a number of states) is enough to promote the third-party alternative.

While most third-parties never win seats, their presence is central to maintaining the democratic tension in our electoral system. Third-parties pose a threat to the major parties. Both major parties have their voting blocs splintered, or threatened with such, from time to time. At present, the Labor vote is effectively splintered by the Greens, although with compulsory preferential voting the worst effects of this are mitigated. Both major parties have, in the past, been splintered from within, but both remain threatened from without as well. Whatever one may think of Bob Brown, Bob Katter, Pauline Hanson, or even Clive Palmer, they represent the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, of the threat the hegemony of the two major parties. Whether their disruptive politics can endure, however, is a different question. Hanson's rise and fall is a case in point.

Other parties, such as the Australian Sex Party, the Liberal Democratic Party, even the Wikileaks Party, represent the vibrant anti-incumbency that our system both enables and needs to maintain the tension. One may cast these minor players aside as "atmosphere," contributing colour and movement to the main game, but it is dangerous to be so flippant, given our political history. What is more, roughly one in five voters vote for a minor party in the Senate; in 2010, that rose to almost 30%, whether this "peak" is repeated at the next election is debatable.

It isn't just the major parties that are "at risk," if that's even the right term. Minor parties are, almost by definition, always at risk, and never more so than when they achieve political success. The balance of power in the Senate is a powerful but perilous position; in its 60-odd year history, it has seen off two "major" minor parties who attained to its influence. The DLP and the Democrats were both punished for their perceived indiscretions while holding the balance. What is perilous for minor parties like these when they do attain a level of influence is that they are more vulnerable to the consequences of compromise. The Democrats, for instance, suffered greatly for negotiating with the Howard Coalition government on the GST. The DLP were obliterated in 1974 for their intransigence towards the Whitlam government. It is hard to say if the Greens will suffer a similar fate to their predecessors. Minor parties are not as robust as their major counterparts. Put simply, they have no base that will vote for them no matter what they do - this may be the exception that saves the Greens, only time will tell.

What will be interesting about the upcoming election will be the influence of some of the more high-profile minor parties (mentioned above). I suspect that the third-party vote will exceed 25%, at least on the Senate ballot. With two deeply unpopular leaders, and two political parties that are descending to cartel-status, the upcoming election will actually be a test of voters' political comprehension, as well as of their willingness to act on their diminishing perception of the two major parties. There's no point complaining about the Big Two if you aren't willing to put your vote on the line. Labor and the Coalition will only respond to voter disaffection if there is a risk of losing those voters. The forthcoming election is not so much a test of the two leaders - neither is wanted - but rather a test of voters and the tensile strength of our democracy.

The Metaphysics of "Personal Responsibility."

Previously, I have argued that "freedom" is an impossibility in the usual "metaphysical" sense in which it is employed in political discourse. In short, we have not evolved to be free; we are socially-bound, mimetically-governed animals  and we are always imposing ourselves on each other. Whatever freedom we might have is bound up by the discourse of imposition towards which our biology impels us.

The appeal to "freedom" is often accompanied by the equally metaphysical appeal to "personal responsibility." Both, however, suffer from the same failure to understand the biological and neurological basis of human behaviour. Contrary to libertarian metaphysics, we possess merely relative agency, not absolute agency. We are not fully in control of what we do. One might draw the conclusion that if we are not entirely free to act, then nor are we entirely responsible for our actions. This is partly true - but such a conclusion can only go so far. If our understanding of freedom must be predicated on our understanding of the social and mimetic nature of human behaviour, then so too must our understanding of responsibility.

There is one further aspect of human behaviour that should be discussed here, one which is pertinent to our understanding of freedom and personal responsibility. This aspect is known by many names, but it is ultimately the punishment-reward dynamic that encourages or discourages our choices and our behaviour subsequent to those choices. Put briefly, we pursue behaviours that reward us and avoid behaviours that punish us; perhaps simplistically, we pursue pleasure and avoid pain. There are numerous chemical responses inside the brain that achieve the desired outcome: seratonin, dopamine, oxytocin, et al. These are our chemical allies in pursuit of the Good.

We are socially-bound, mimetically-governed, and chemically-aided in our interactions with each other, in our common environment. Indeed, it is because we share both a common environment and a common neurological and physiological constitution that we can do anything at all. Our mimetic instinct is predicated on this common platform; to put it plainly, we can imitate because we have the same bodies, and our bodies, or rather our brains (is there really a difference?), are programmed to recognise and respond to other like-bodied entities. We are encouraged to behave in mimetically-favoured ways by our chemical allies: we are rewarded for behaviour that brings us into proximity with other human beings. The ultimate form of proximity, of course, is sex, the biological imperative. Oxytocin plays a particularly important role here.

But our chemical allies are not smart; nor, really, are our neurons. Neurons simply "fire" at the appropriate time, they do not think about it. I say they are not smart because they can be tricked, or falsely triggered. We know that addiction has a chemical basis: the false reward of synthetic stimulants is a trick, a punishment dressed up as a reward. Our mimetic instinct, driven at the level of neural activity, is also susceptible. It doesn't know which behaviour is good to imitate; it simply imitates in order to fit its environment, and if a chemical reward is forthcoming it will reproduce the behaviour. I say "it" but I mean the organism, because the organism (the animal, the human) is constituted by chemicals and neurons; we do not exist apart from them.

We are our nervous system and our organs (we are also our stories, our poems, and our songs, but that is a discussion for another day). We derive our basic values from the processes of our organism - the living animal that we are. Arguably, the most fundamental source of "values" are our emotions, and these too are derived from fundamental embodied processes, including our mimetic and chemical processes. Emotions are the product of physiological processes, yet emotions qualify our experience; we even go in search of experiences that will give us particular emotional responses.

Neuroscientist Antonio Damasio explains the relationship between our fundamental physiological processes rather well. He argues, for instance, that our emotions are grounded in our homeostatic and somatosensory processes. Emotions are a kind of "survival value" that helps us make our way in the world, and are directly linked to the autonomic processes that keep our internal milieu in balanced, functional condition. Beneficial experiences are rewarded, while detrimental experiences are punished, and there are concomitant emotions that qualify, or colour, such experiences reinforcing them as good or bad - to be repeated or to be avoided in the future.

Any discussion about personal responsibility must be grounded in an understanding of our biological limitations; that we are socially-bound, mimetically-governed, and chemically-aided means that personal responsibility entails collective responsibility because we are a product of collective behaviour. We are, in fact, driven towards a sociological collectivism by our neurophysiological make-up. If we understand, however, that our neurophysiological make-up is vulnerable to subversion, through addiction for instance, then it is beholden upon us to protect ourselves as a community of like-bodied animals against it.

Because we are essentially imitative creatures, and because our chemical allies can easily be tricked into reinforcing destructive behaviour, we have a collective responsibility to minimise, if not eliminate, such negative influences. At the very least, personal responsibility must be viewed through the prism of collective responsibility. We are, ultimately, social animals, and our organism, our neurological and physiological processes, do not operate on a metaphysical level in the way that (we assume) our rational minds do.

Critical Literacy: A Demonstration

The above image is taken from a recent post from the Liberal Party's Facebook page. Coverage of the story can be found here. In a previous blog I discussed the importance of "critical literacy," and here is a perfect example of why it is important. To be fair, most of the feedback I have seen about the above image has been negative, and this gives me some hope. Critical literacy is not a special talent reserved for the educated few, it is something that is accessible to all human beings; we are critical animals.

At the core of this image lies a fallacy, a juxtapositional fallacy in the form of a hypothetical (if/then) proposition: "If Labor can't even control our borders, then how can they control street crime in our suburbs?" "Street crime" and "border control"are not explicitly linked: the argument is not explicitly made that immigrants are the cause of crime. The argument is implied, however, by the use of the structure of the hypothetical proposition. The structure of the hypothetical proposition implies a logical relationship; this is intuitively obvious to most people, but most people are unable to break the issue down to a sufficient level to identify the mechanics of the fallacy. The ability to name a fallacy is a vital component of critical literacy.

The logical relationship implied by a hypothetical proposition is, more specifically, a relationship of causality. It has a number of variations, including strict temporal causality: "if X occurs, then Y occurs." That is, X causes Y. There is also comparative causality; that is, an indirect causal relation whereby two states of affairs or events are related by a common cause but do share a direct temporal cause. This is the variation which the hypothetical in the above image ostensibly adopts: "if X is the case, then Y is also the case." Structurally speaking, the hypothetical does not change form for either variation, it is always if/then. This structural invariance is important because it allows for ambiguity, and it is through this ambiguity that the implied link is made. The insidious suggestion that immigrants are the cause of crime is smuggled in at the intersection of the comparative and temporal hypotheses: "if X occurs/is the case, then Y occurs/is the case."

In the case of our example, there is a shift from one to the other: "if X is the case, then Y occurs." More specifically: "if it is the case that Labor cannot control our borders, then it will occur that they cannot control street crime in our suburbs." This is an awkward formulation, to be sure. But there are a number of other indicators in the proposition, as well as the rhetorical form the proposition takes that help to support my analysis. Firstly, the use of modal verbs "can't" and "can"; secondly, the use of the adverb "even." The use of the modal verb helps to mask the implication; we can see this if we change the modal verb to its copula equivalent: "is," or rather the plural "are." For example: "if Labor aren't controlling our borders, then they aren't controlling street crime in our suburbs." The link between immigrants and crime is more obvious because the copula verb, distinct from the modal verb, expresses an absolute relationship. Modal verbs merely indicate contingency, or possible relationships.

Modal verbs are shifty, but they allow the kind of ambiguity by which such insidious suggestions are made. What is more, the modal verbs allow the shift from the comparative (indirect link) to temporal (direct link) form of the hypothetical proposition. The implication is more fluid: "if you can't control the borders, then more crime might happen." Schematically: "if X is the case, Y might occur." Because of the ambiguity that's involved, the reverse is also true: "if X occurs, then Y might be the case." The significance of this shiftiness should be clear: it allows for the suggestion of a temporal causal link, while at the same time implying a comparative causal link. In this case, the proposition implies that "weak border protection," or more broadly "immigration," is a cause of "street crime," but it is packaged with the suggestion of a "common cause," which might be summed up as "Labor's incompetence." Because of the modality of the proposition, however, both "Labor's incompetence is the cause of weak border control as well as street crime" and "weak border control (immigration) is a cause of street crime" are valid inferences to be drawn from the state. Schematically: "X causes Y, and X causes Z" and "X causes Y causes Z," respectively.

The adverbial "even" provides an anchor-point for the shifting modality of the hypothetical. "Even" provides a suggestion of emphasis, and in this case exasperation. Consider the statement: "You can't even get that right!" The implication is that the individual in question also can't get other things right: put simply, the adverbial "even" implies more than what is said in sentences in which it appears. Grammatically, the adverbial "even" has a subordinating feature similar - although not identical - to a subordinating conjunction. That is, the meaning of the sentence, clause, or phrase in which it features is predicated on something prior to or subsequent to the sentence, clause, or phrase, in which it features. This kind of interconnection is a common feature of all adverbials. Adverbials signal this interconnection, whether it's a "therefore" or a "consequently"; the role of the adverbial is to indicate that other information is relevant to understanding the sentence in which it features. In the case of our example, it indicates prior assumptions, firstly about the Labor party, but more specifically about the issue. That is, that immigration is a problem; as such, the adverbial "even" acts as a psychological prompt for what follows. The modal-adverbial construct "can't even" prompts the reader for their assumptions.

Along the same line, the "if" part of the hypothetical proposition also prompts the reader to prepare for a subsequent "then." So not only is the reader prepared for a propositional statement, they are also primed for a negative statement: "if [...] can't even" must be followed by a "then [...] can't." It would be nonsensical for "if [...] can't even" to be followed by "then [...] can." It is, to be fair, quite logical to follow "if [...] can't" with "then [...] can," for instance: "if he can't play rugby this year, then he can play soccer." It is the inclusion of the adverbial "even" that primes the reader for a negative conclusion. So not only is the "logical" relationship between immigration and crime implied by the grammatical structure of the hypothetical proposition, the rhetoric (the choice of key words) of the construct primes the reader for a particular - negative - association.

One final element of the example is worth discussing: the rhetorical question. Rhetorical questions are what I call "illicit rhetorical devices" and I will discuss them more explicitly in my grammar blog. Rhetorical questions, as is commonly understood, are not real questions looking for an answer; they are questions that imply their answer. They are an illicit device because they are used to smuggle in (pardon the pun) information without that information being stated explicitly. That the hypothetical proposition is fashioned into a rhetorical question is the final indication of the kind of  sinister misinformation that the above example peddles in; it is "illicit" in every sense of the word. The rhetorical question is a more obvious psychological prompt than the adverbial "even," but its function in the example is to tie together into a single act of signification (the question mark at the end) the different logical, rhetorical, and grammatical signifiers that constitute the proposition. The rhetorical question induces reflection, but a reflection that is influenced by the question itself. Remember, the rhetorical question implies its answer, so the reflection the question induces is as "loaded" as the question.

To reiterate, it is heartening to know that most of the commentary about the image has been critical; it is heartening to know that there is at least an intuitive grasp of the deception and manipulation involved. But without the capacity to name the fallacies and break down the deceptions, the battle against ignorance and bigotry is only ever half-fought. An emotional response to a emotionally manipulative image or argument does not result in more moderate minds. Critical literacy is the vital tool to break apart the kind of invidious politics we are faced with, not just in Australia but around the world.

Double Dissolutions, Third Party Politics, and the Balance of Power.

Politically, we are in strange times. At a federal level, we are nearing the end of our first hung-parliament since 1940, and only the second since 1910. If, as is consistently predicted by the polls, there is a change of government, we might be faced with perhaps the second rarest event in Australian politics: the Double Dissolution election. I don’t intend to go into the reasons for why we are in a hung parliament or why we there most likely will be a change of government at the next election. These reasons are well known. What is not so well known is why a Double Dissolution election may be called subsequent to a change of government. Exactly what such an election entails might also be a mystery to some, so an explanation is called for.

 

At any normal election, every seat in the House of Representatives is vacated and contested anew. In the Senate, however, only approximately half the seats are. As it stands, the Senate is comprised of twelve Senates from every State, and two from the Territories. At each election only six State Senators and both Senators from the two Territories are up for re-election. A total of 40 Senators are up for re-election at any normal election, while the remaining 36 can rest easy for another three years. At a Double Dissolution election, however, every Senator is up for re-election. This special type of election, however, requires a trigger before it can be called. This trigger, put simply, is an intransigent Senate that refuses to pass government legislation. More specifically, the trigger occurs when the Senate rejects the same piece of legislation that has passed the House of Representatives twice over a specific period of time. It is up to the government of the day, however, to pull the trigger, so to speak; it does not happen automatically. The full provisions for Double Dissolution elections are found in Section 57 of the Australian Constitution.

 

The Double Dissolution election is designed to overcome legislative deadlock between the Upper and Lower houses. Because only roughly half the Senate is elected at any normal election, it is entirely possibly for non-government parties to hold the majority, or what is commonly referred to as the "balance of power." As such, non-government parties can obstruct the government, rejecting legislation, even blocking budgetary measures. Section 57 of the Constitution allows the government to respond to such obstruction by calling an election where every seat is contested, clearing the decks, as it were. Nonetheless, it is still possible after a Double Dissolution election for the Senate to be controlled by non-government members. This is has occurred in all but two Double Dissolution elections.

 

If the Senate remains intransigent after a Double Dissolution election is called, and the Senate again rejects legislation from the House of Representatives then a Joint-Sitting wherein both Houses sit together and vote as a single body. It is important to note, however, that only the legislation that was rejected prior to the Double Dissolution and rejected once again after the new parliament is sworn in is eligible for a Joint-Sitting vote. This Joint-Sitting favours the government because, in accordance with the Constitution, the House of Representatives must have twice as many members as the Senate, meaning a large majority in the Lower House will easily outnumber the smaller majority from the Upper House. There has, however, only been one Joint-Sitting in Australian political history, after the 1974 election.

 

The Double Dissolution, arguably, is the most powerful electoral mechanism after Constitutional Referenda, which are notoriously unsuccessful. While there have been 44 Referenda in Australian history, eight of which have been successful, there have only been six Double Dissolution elections: 1914, 1951, 1974, 1975, 1983, and 1987. While Double Dissolutions are powerful, they are also incredibly risky. Double Dissolution elections often have unintended consequences that only become apparent years later. There are some important historical facts to address first in order to contextualise the subtler more complex consequences that follow.

 

Of the six Double Dissolution elections, two have resulted in a change of government: 1914 and 1983. The 1975 Dissolution election is a special case, because it came about subsequent to the infamous dismissal of Gough Whitlam. While Malcolm Fraser was installed as “caretaker” Prime Minister after Whitlam’s sacking by Sir John Kerr, technically Whitlam retained the majority on the floor of the House. Fraser, as Prime Minister, won the 1975 election but Whitlam lost the majority that would normally have seen him in the top job. The 1974 Double Dissolution, which Whitlam did win as Prime Minister, is the only such election to have resulted in a Joint-Sitting.

           

The 1914 Double Dissolution election is of little relevance to modern analysis. Of the participants in that election only the Australian Labor Party remains. What is more, the electoral conditions under which it was conducted bear no resemblance to the modern system having taken place before any of the major electoral reforms were instituted (I will address these shortly). The only significance the first Double Dissolution election has – other than being the first – is it was also the first in which such an election resulted in a change of government. The Double Dissolution can resolve deadlocks, but not always in the favour of those who instigated it. Sometimes, pulling the trigger backfires, as Malcolm Fraser would learn nearly 70 years later.

 

The 1951 election is significant because it occured subsequent to the electoral reform that introduced proportional representation into the Senate. Up until 1949, the Senate vote was conducted under block voting rules. Without going into great detail, block voting almost always resulted in massive victories, awarding all the Senate vacancies in a given state to one party. Due to the lopsided nature of such victories there were occasions where single parties held all but a handful of seats in the Senate. In the lead up to the 1949 election, for instance, the governing Labor party held 33 of 36 seats in the Senate. While the Coalition won government in that election, the subsequent Double Dissolution became necessary because the Labor party still held control of the Senate. This was due to the fact that, in a normal election, only half the Senate is up for election. The Senate increased in size that election, but this did not affect the ultimate result.

 

The 1951 Double Dissolution election ended Labor’s control of the Senate, handing control to the Coalition parties. The significance of the election is that, effectively, the Double Dissolution was used to clear the decks for the new Coalition government to govern unobstructed. The Coalition would continue to govern until 1972 when they would be defeated by Labor under Whitlam. The following 1953 election would be a “half-Senate election” in which, as the name suggests, only half the Senate would be up for re-election. House elections would not follow until 1954. Half-Senate elections may be necessary if elections are, essentially, called out of cycle. The House and the Senate do not, strictly speaking, run to the same cycle. Sometimes, when an early election is called, whether by Double Dissolution or normal mechanisms (such as in 1963), House and Senate elections are run at different times. It may require a new election, appropriately timed, to re-align the cycle of the two houses, such as in 1984.

 

The 1951 election is significant for another reason. In 1951, as I have already said, this election gave the Coalition parties control over the Senate. The Coalition retained control of the Senate after the 1953 half-Senate election as well. In 1955, however, the very first third party would come to take the balance of power: the Democratic Labor Party. The electoral reforms in 1948 that brought proportional representation to the Senate would lay the foundations for future third parties to assume the balance of power. The 1951 Double Dissolution election, however, would also play a role by setting the scene for the 1955 election in which the DLP would win its first two seats under the name of the Anti-Communist Labor Party.

 

There are, of course, other reasons contributing to the rise of the DLP. As the original name– Anti-Communist Labor Party – suggests, the DLP broke away from the ALP over the issue of communism. I won’t broach those issues here. In terms of the influence of the 1951 Double Dissolution election on the emergence of the balance of power, there are a couple of points. Firstly, it exploded the legacy of numbers left over from the 1946 election in which block voting was still used. From that point on, the Senate would not swing as wildly in terms of numbers; a narrow margin would exist between each side of politics in which a strong enough third party could manoeuvre itself. Secondly, there would be no full general election until 1955. There would be a half-Senate election in 1953, and a House-only election in 1954. The houses would not realign until 1955 when the DLP would break through.

 

The readjustment of the Senate to full proportional representation was only ever going to take two elections. That the second election after the 1948 reform was a Double Dissolution is simply a matter of fortune. The Double Dissolution election had no causative effect on the split between the DLP and the ALP. By giving the Coalition control over both houses, however, it created the need for a balance of power, while the 1948 reform gave the opportunity. At the 1953 half-Senate election, the Coalition retained its Senate majority, while in the 1954 House-only election, for the first time, the Labor party won the popular vote but not enough seats to form government. At the 1955 general election the first modern balance of power was formed. The DLP benefited from proportional representation and the growing anti-communist sentiment. At the same time, however, the DLPalso benefited from what one might call an anti-incumbency sentiment, or, more specifically, the public concern surrounding the potential for one party to control both houses. This anti-incumbency could now be effectively expressed through a newly proportional Senate.

 

The next Double Dissolution election wouldn’t be until 1974, and it would be followed the next year by another such election. This is reflective of the turbulence of the time. The 1975 election would come as a result of the dismissal of the WhitlamLabor government. The 1974 election, on the other hand, is important for a number of reasons. It is the first, and only, time that there has been a Joint-Sitting of the House and Senate pursuant to Section 57 of the Constitution. The 1974 election also saw the end of the DLP’s time in parliament. It wouldn’t be until 2010 that the DLP would return to federal politics. The Double Dissolution was in fact called because of the DLP’s recalcitrance in the Senate. Where there were six DLP Senators, after a single election there were none. The 1974 election illustrates the precarious nature of holding the balance of power in the Senate for minor parties.

 

To draw from this event that the Double Dissolution can be used to remove minor parties from the Senate, however, would be a mistake. The 1974 election would be the only time a minor party was entirely removed from the Senate in this fashion. The demise of the Australian Democrats, the only other minor party to have disappeared from federal politics after having had more than one member in the Senate, would be a much slower affair. The 1974 election had another significant impact on the Australian political scene. With the DLP obliterated there was no significant third party force in the Senate. The fact that there was no multi-member party in the Senate at this time to hold the balance of power – either on its own or in conjunction with independents – would have repercussions for subsequent elections. In the absence of a strong balance of power party Malcolm Fraser, in 1975 would win and retain absolute majorities inboth Houses from 1975 to 1981. This state of affairs, however, would have its own impact in helping to bring about the next major third party in Australian politics: the Australian Democrats.

 

The DLP were wiped out in 1974, but the Democrats wouldn’t emerge until 1978. The gestation of the Democrats however had begun earlier than that. The Liberal Movement, a breakaway group from the South Australian Liberal Party (then called the Liberal Country League), came to prominence, albeit fleetingly, in the 1974 election. The former Premier of South Australia, Steele Hall, was its first and only Senator. The Liberal Movement can be seen as the forerunner to the Australian Democrats. Firstly, a number of members would eventually migrate to the newly formed Democrats after Steel Hall quit the party – and the Senate –to rejoin the Liberal party. Secondly, an Australian Democrat, Janine Haines, was appointed as Hall’s successor by the South Australian Labor government, which perceived the Democrats as the natural successor to the now-defunct Liberal Movement.

           

Double Dissolution elections in consecutive years paved the way for a new third party, but only first by eliminating the original third party and, in essence, gifting the in-coming Liberal government a majority in both Houses. The Double Dissolution, it can be seen, not only provides a government the opportunity to clear the decks, so to speak, as it tries to reassert its agenda, but it also provides the opportunity for third parties and independents to gain access to power. The Double Dissolution is, however, a danger to them if they decide to take an obstructionist route when they attain any degree of power. However, as the 1914 election demonstrated, Double Dissolution elections are also a danger to the governing party, as the 1983 election would reiterate.

 

The 1983 election illustrated the dangers of hubris. Not only would Fraser be the second Prime Minister to lose at a Double Dissolution election, but he would also suffer the worst electoral loss at a federal level in Liberal Party history. The 1983 election also helped to bolster the Democrats position as the balance of power party, having first taken hold of that position at the 1980 election. At the 1980 election the Democrats suffered a swing against them, despite having taken the balance of power. At the 1983 election they would recover a minor swing back towards them. This pattern, of corresponding swings away and back, would be repeated between the next general election in 1984 and the subsequent Double Dissolution election in 1987.

 

The need for the Democrats would be borne out of consecutive Double Dissolutions, and their position would be strengthened through two more a little more than a decade later. Four Double Dissolution elections were held in a 14 year period from 1974 to 1987, which is emblematic of the turmoil of the period. A period of turmoil that began with the end of a 24 year Liberal government and the accession of a Labor government that, arguably, was not properly equipped to take the reigns after so long in the wilderness. This period came to a head with the constitutional crisis of 1975. Other events, including the death of the first balance of power party and the birth of the second, along with the largest and longest majorities of any government in both houses since 1948 are also aftershocks of that seismic shift in the political landscape that began with Whitlam’s election, or perhaps even Menzies’ retirement before that.

 

The Democrats were born from the shaking ground of this period, and they benefited in various ways, both direct and indirect, from the four Double Dissolutions that occurred during this time. While the Democrats would find favour as the nation’s second third party to hold the balance of power, their continuing fortunes were anything but stable. While they encountered minor popularity bumps at the 1983 and 1987 elections in comparison to the general elections that preceded them, the period spanning from the elections in 1990 to 1993 and 1996 would see them encounter more pronounced swings back and forth of between 4% and 5%. While the Democrats benefited from the tumult of the 1970s and 80s, they would also reflect the shakiness of the time in their own polling. Nevertheless, through much of the 80s and 90s the Democrats held the balance of power, either outright, or with independents and other parties, such as their eventual successors The Australian Greens.

 

The Democrats further benefited under the Hawke Labor government through the 1984 electoral reform which saw the introduction of group voting or “above the line voting.”This reform would have major implications for independents and minor parties in the Senate. While it would initially benefit the Democrats, it would also contribute to their demise. Group voting allowed for the voting process in the Senate to be streamlined. Where, since 1948, voters had to number every box for every candidate, which could number as many as 60 or 70 in some states, now they need only number one box “above the line” and those tickets would be filled in automatically by the party’s preferences. This reduced the number of informal votes on the Senate ballot, but also allowed parties to trade preferences with one another in the pursuit of securing a Senate seat. The limitations on this, however, were that such preference trades had to be done prior to the election so that voters could find out where the preferences for their vote would go if they cared to know.

 

Group voting has had a profound effect on politics in Australian politics, because it empowers, perhaps unfairly, minor parties: they can acquire a small percentage of the vote - a fraction of a percent in most cases - and use that as leverage in preference deals. Given that most minor parties get less than one percent of the vote, this doesn't seem like much of a problem, but when lots of like-minded parties harvest small numbers of votes they can eventually combine their totals through preference swaps. This is, in part, how Steve Fielding of the Family First Party gained his seat in 2004 in Victoria, and how John Madigan of the DLP gained his seat in 2010 (essentially replacing Fielding). Both candidates received less than 3% of the vote but reached the 14.3% quota required to obtain a seat through preferences.

The 2004 election of Steve Fielding is an interesting case. He was elected, in part, because the Labor Party, along with the Democrats, preferenced against the Australian Greens in an attempt to prevent them from winning a Senate seat. Ideologically, Family First is very conservative; it was, as such, counter-productive for Labor to preference against an ideologically sympathetic party. The Labor Party and the Greens are now in something akin to a symbiotic relationship (in the Senate at least), where they need to preference each other or risk letting through a conservative party in the place of a progressive party. The Senate is so finely balanced in this way that one seat can make a massive difference.

 

There has not been a Double Dissolution election since 1987. The influence of group voting, as such, has not been fully tested. At a Double Dissolution election all Senators are up for re-election, and this means the quota is effectively cut in half. The quota goes from 14.3% to 7.7%. Therein lies the opportunity for minor parties that are just at the fringes of electoral success. Half of those Senators elected, to be sure, will serve less than half a Senate term; those that just squeeze through will likely be gone at the next general election. But a few years with a platform like the Australian Senate is an opportunity to spread your message.

 

If we take the 2010 as an example, looking at Victoria, had it been a Double Dissolution election the likely breakdown of Senators would look like this: Labor 4 (likely 5), Coalition 4, Greens 2, with one remaining seat contested between the Coalition, the DLP, FFP, and the Australian Sex Party. In New South Wales, the breakdown might look like this: Coalition 5, Labor 4 (possibly 5), Greens 1 (possibly, but unlikely, 2), with two seats contested between Labor, the Liberal Democrats, the Christian Democrats, the Sex Party, and the Greens. In Queensland, for instance, the emergence of Katter's Australian Party would further complicate the contest in that state. Closer analysis would reveal the likely winners; my point is to illustrate that a Double Dissolution opens the door for minor parties to compete for seats that are, under normal circumstances, out of their reach.

 

As seems likely, the Coalition, led by Tony Abbott, will win a majority in the House of Representatives, but he will face an intransigent Senate with the Greens holding the balance of power until at least June 2014 and openly hostile to an Abbott-led government. A Double Dissolution is not out of the question given the promises Tony Abbott has made, especially to repeal various pieces of legislation. Depending on the make-up of the post-June 2014 election, Abbott might need to go to a Double Dissolution election in an attempt to assert his authority. It is important to note that, unlike the DLP, the Greens will not disappear in a single election - in fact, a Double Dissolution may result in a more unwieldy Senate with a multi-party balance of power (including Greens). It is entirely possible that the balance of power under such circumstances will be held, in part, by a mix of libertarian, religious, regional conservative, and environmentalist parties. Having to negotiate, even for a few years, such a quagmire might be impossible.

 

To coin a phrase, a Double Dissolution is no solution; it is a double-edged sword. Given the suspicion with which both major parties are held, it could be very easy to frame any Double Dissolution trigger as a "power grab," which would only exacerbate the anti-incumbency sentiment that is growing in the Australian electorate. Nonetheless, the next few years, regardless of the result of the forthcoming election, will remain turbulent. In my personal opinion, we are in the middle of a period of "correction"; having emerged from almost 25 years of stable governance we are pretty much due. I draw a parallel between the end of the Coalition's 24-odd year reign and the Whitlam-Fraser eras; the latter was not a stable period of governance. I think there are parallels between then and now. I think we are in a period of correction, and I think a Double Dissolution is due.

The Discourse of Imposition: Mimesis, Politics, and the Impossibility of Freedom.

We are social creatures; we are not "free," whatever freedom might mean to you. "Freedom" can be a mantra, put to good effect, in the political arena, used to close down debate on novel policy ideas - alternately, "freedom" can be used to pry open previously closed debates. Freedom is a tool; how you use it depends on your agenda.

But I say we are social creatures and not "free," certainly not in the romantic perception that implies that more freedom is somehow the panacea to all society's ills. We are not free because we are driven to impose upon each other. Sharing your opinion is just such an imposition (this is why "freedom of speech" is so important!). We impose upon one another in direct, indirect, and collective ways. We impose upon our family and friends; we impose upon service staff and public servants; we impose upon the institutions that we rely upon to conduct our everyday business; through those institutions we impose upon people we have never met. We are, in turn, imposed upon by our family and friends; by various institutions and public officials; even by complete strangers, directly and indirectly.

It is through this dynamic and pervasive imposition that politics emerges. Politics is the endless discourse, indeed struggle, of social (and economic) imposition. Man, to quote Aristotle, is a political animal because man is a social animal. The discourse of freedom, however nebulous, is bound up in this discourse of imposition. It is not to be considered illegitimate, as such; it is quite a natural expression of political desires. It is, nonetheless, a part of the discourse of imposing political interests and perspectives on others - and, conversely, of resisting the same imposition in return.

We cannot step outside this discourse of imposition; it's in our DNA. We are hard-wired to identify with others, and to assert ourselves - to impose. We are, to quote William James, the imitative animal. We learn by imitating others; nowhere is this more evident than with children. To make the point explicit: children learn by imitating their parents and others in their environment. Acquiring language is predicated on this imitative education. Our social nature is also predicated on this inherent imitative, or mimetic, capacity.

We are drawn together because it is required for the proper functioning of our organism - the biological entity that we are. We are, after all, animals, whatever else we might be. We have a biological purpose to satisfy, with many biological functions necessary for that purpose to ultimately be satisfied. We are by no means "free" to pursue this biological satisfaction apart from the discourse of imposition. We are biological, social, imitative, and political animals all at once.

That we are drawn together out of mimetic instinct has many consequences. We not only persist in imitation throughout our lives - imitation is, after all, an important cognitive short-cut: we accept received wisdom and opinions from many quarters, including religion and politics, and we regurgitate that wisdom vociferously, now, perhaps, more than ever - but we impose upon each other because of this mimetic instinct. Politics is mimetic in the sense that we are engaged, permanently, in a social transaction predicated on imitation.

Politics, furthermore, is a projection of mimetic instinct. We do not imitate blindly (although this might be debatable in some regards), but we construct, through our original mimetic learning and beyond, a model of behaviour based on the aggregation of mimetic patterns. Our "world-view" is predicated on these patterns - we are a satisfied when these patterns are reaffirmed through our social interactions and experience. That is, when the world is presenting us with mimetic patterns that match our mimetic patterns all is right with the world. More simply, when we see people acting in a way that matches the patterns we are used to (the patterns we acquire through our initial mimetic learning, and which persist through adulthood), we are satisfied that things are going smoothly.

When we see people acting in ways that are not sanguine to our preferred patterns of behaviour and experience, in ways we are not used to imitating and which are not successful models of behaviour for us, there is a cognitive conflict. We do not like what we are seeing - it is wrong! This applies, not merely to immediate or direct experience, but abstract experience as well. And this is where we return to politics.

Politics - in a democracy at least - is a largely abstract experience. Politics is the argument of abstract objects, policies, laws, regulations, that govern specific sets of behaviour. The more politically inclined view the world through an ideology: an abstract set of protocols about what should or should not happen at the communal or societal level. Ideology, in other words, is a world-view predicated on mimetic instincts. Indeed, there is research to suggest this link neurologically between political identification and mimetic instinct. I direct you to Marco Iacoboni's 2008 book Mirroring People, Chapter 10, "Neuropolitics," specifically. I'll discuss this marvellous book in greater depth another day. In a nutshell, there is evidence to suggest that we are hardwired to identify and imitate the actions of others; generally, this idea comes under the rubric of "mirror neuron theory." This neurological predestination has implications for politics,  marketing ("neuromarketing"), or anything else that involves human behaviour - even the abstractions of human behaviour.

We object to behaviour that we cannot imagine ourselves engaging in. In short, behaviour that is (to re-purpose a fading word) "inimitable." Inimitable behaviour presents us with an inaccessible mind - if we cannot imitate the behaviour, if we cannot identify with it because our mimetic model of morality has never included it, then we cannot be sure we are dealing with a fellow mind-haver. We opine to impose our mimetic model - through the wonderful tool of language - on other, but clearly inferior, mind-havers. If our words cannot reach them, then surely they are subnormal! The derision and vitriol on the Internet suggests that political subnormality is, in fact, the norm! There is little respectful or intellectual discussion; epithets and condescension are commonplace.

We are never free because we are biologically incapable of freedom - at least the metaphysical kind of freedom that so many seem to appeal to. Freedom cannot be imitated - what can be imitated is ideology, or a politically-based mimetic model of the world. Conversely, ideology can be imposed because it can be imitated. Inimitable behaviour is unacceptable, even in abstract experiences like political discourse. We are political animals because we are imitative animals. Without imitation, there is no need for politics.