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The Age, September 2000.
With agendas this big, no one, even on the lunatic fringe, is left out.
How embarrassing. I mean, really. Nobody at the S11 protest chanted the old "What do we want? When do we want it?" war cry. If they had, it would have sounded something like this:
"WHAT DO WE WANT?"
"A controlling body for international capital investment, the imposition of debt management and relief for Third World countries to prevent environment ravishment, an international trade-monitoring mechanism to stop exploitation of Third World workers, (deep breath) tariffs but not tariffs, investment but not profit, debt cancellation but not investment withdrawal, food but not McDonald’s, clothes but not Nike, culture but not American culture (even thought he kids love it), a complex set of regulations enforceable by a UN-nominated body to which multinational corporations will unilaterally comply."
"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?"
"Hang on, we haven’t finished yet..."
I really wanted the S11 protest to go well. But the trouble was its awesome generality. Globalisation, the S11 bogyman, is a term as broad as the globe itself, covering the integration of cultures, economics, businesses, societies, political systems, even religions.
Then there are the disparate groups that joined the happy band outside Crown Casino typified by the Resistance members and One Nation delegates linking arms to hold back the police. It wasn't so long ago the Resistance gang were attacking police outside One Nation meetings and spitting on the attendees. What next? Skinhead bovver boys singing Blowin’ In The Wind while their socialist brethren dance around a maypole scattering Liberal how-to-vote cards?
So many agendas, so little time. Some of the protesters condemned McDonald’s appalling capacity to open up shop wherever it likes, especially in free, democratic countries. Other railed against Nike’s insistence on forcing (forcing, mind) Third World workers to work for long hours for little pay.
Two guys with funny hats and earrings in soon-to-be-unfashionable body parts told the cameras Bill Gates was a fascist (reasons unspecified, seemingly self-apparent). Another bloke with green hair and a tongue stud said BHP was fascist. A placard declaring the media were fascists was held aloft proudly. And there seemed to be general agreement that the middle-class public servants known as the Victoria Police were all fascists, even the girls. And if police horses could talk, they’d no doubt sprout highlight from the Nuremberg rallies, particularly the bits about Shetland ponies being genetically inferior.
The comic characters Tim and Debbie from the legendary Australia - You’re Standing In It used to call everyone fascists. It was very funny. But it’s an old joke now.
I must admit, even though I am a Mario’s Café-dwelling, black-wearing, café latte-swilling, book-reading, obnoxious leftie, I was embarrassed by the whole S11 thing. Not because the Myer January sale gets a bigger turnout. And not because there was violence. Hell, if there hadn’t been, such a small crowd wouldn’t have rated a mention in the media. No, what embarrassed me was the vagueness of it all.
What exactly was S11 protesting against? I’m on-side and I can’t work it out. I know the trouble-makers from Resistance were there, handing out "Sack the bosses" placard, but they hand those out at every rally.
First-year arts students linked arms and chanted slogans about the environment, then the military, then Pakistani sweatshops, Kerry Packer, Microsoft, Crown Casino, the stock exchange, Aborigines, McDonalds, non-violent erotica, ANZ, the WTO and finally, yes, the "fascists" (see "police horses"). They hissed at the police, sneered at the cameras, bounced on Richard Court’s car and then, extraordinarily, grooved happily to We Are Family like it was a Nimbin dance party. I saw that and reached for the liquor cabinet.
Wesley Grammar students with braces and Toorak accents complained that "multinationals cause poverty". But it was hard to listen seriously to someone’s thoughts on poverty when the education that alerted them to such injustice costs 40 grand a year and their braces cost more than a sweatshop worker makes in a lifetime.
Some protesters were just plain ignorant and silly. Like the bald chick who told ABC cameras the WEF wasn’t "a democratic forum anyway". Uh, it was a forum. We don’t elect delegates to private forums. They are invited. Like, d’uh. More Scotch please, nurse.
I really wanted to agree with these guys. But, once all the shouting had died down and the rabble-rousers had been dragged by the duffel bags into divvy vans, one question was left unanswered: what credible alternative to globalisation did S11 offer?
Communism? Surely not. No one could seriously suggest we adopt a State Takes All approach to world poverty. Socialism? Australia already had Medicare, welfare and public education. Protectionalism? Been there, done that. Anarchy? And who would organise it?
The humorless wowsers from Resistance hit the airwaves after the furore declaring "victory". Over what? And was that a battle or was it the war?
In the end, S11 came across as a bunch of half-educated lefties, private school kids and scary communists exorcising their middle-class guilt. They publicized their protest against Bill gates over the Internet. They decried the squandering of money but cost the city millions. And someone, somewhere in the crowd, was wearing Nike. Count on it.
There were so many points, there was no point. Maybe what they need is a damn good war.
In a fit of depression, I watched my supposed comrade dancing in woolly hats, singing that they were family. By the fourth Scotch I was reminded of the maxim, "You can choose your friends but not your family."
Some days you can't choose either.
Tim Ferguson is the tall bloke on Unreal TV.
E-mail: opinion@theage.fairfax.com.au
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