Why Universal Health Care is Vital to Any Civilised, Compassionate Society, and how it Benefits Everyone

There's no big secret about me having rheumatoid arthritis, or a broken back.  I tweet about it, share my experiences and get some good advice from others who know about auto-immune diseases, as well as having a plethora of specialists, including a consultant rheumatologist, taking care of me.

Due to the damage in my spine, which is currently held together with titanium pins, rods, screws, a cage and will power, I also suffer chronic, intense back pain which needs it's own management plan.  Lately the symptoms of the partial paraplegia, from the significant nerve damage, have been getting worse.  More pain, less mobility and some potentially embarrassing moments in public. (Other than my risqué conversations!)

Working out what's going on isn't that straight forward.  Physiotherapy have noticed the deterioration.  A muscular-skeletal exam confirmed what my physiotherapist suspected, an expensive custom made orthotic was made to assist me to walk further than a few metres without tripping over.  Meanwhile a pathologist investigates my blood and reports back to my rheumatologist and General Practitioner (GP, just a regular doctor).  My gastroenterologist orders Doppler ultrasound, and interprets the digital video remotely from the Imaging Services Department at the hospital.  My neurosurgeon is frequently updated with digital CT scans to look for change.

That's where the “problem” lays.  The titanium that is fused into my lower spine scatters x-rays, so high resolution images near the suspect site are not possible, but there is enough change for it to be noticed.  So an MRI scan is ordered.

I don’t know if anyone knows what having an MRI is like.  I’ve become used to them, but still they aren’t pleasant for me.  The MRI scan process for me is fairly straight forward; change into “something more comfortable”, double check for any metal I might be wearing, get wedged onto a plank, then loaded like a shell into a cannon.  For the next thirty or so minutes the sounds of thumping, banging, buzzing, and harmonics of all these all but drown out any music I’m listening to through plastic tubing.  While all this is happening the electro magnets (which resonate causing the disturbing banging sounds) are so powerful, any loose metal within a few metres of the machine would be flicked through at a velocity enough to break bones or, worse, the machine.  They are so powerful that it makes me vibrate.  Indeed, I can tell when they are focusing on my lumbar region as the titanium moves with the vertebrae to cause pinching of some nerves which results in a combinations of unpleasant discomfort and sensations of having hot pokers rammed through my feet and into my spine.  Then I’m unloaded briefly, but not allowed to move, as a contrast agent is injected into my wrist.  Normally they try and find the less painful area, but it’s not always possible. The contrast agent makes my tongue feel like someone’s put a dirty teaspoon on it.  Then it’s reload and do it all over again.

Yesterday’s little outing in the tubular coffin took no less than 90 minutes.

Now I’m not saying this is, or should be, a typical experience for anyone.  It’s simply my own experience due to my unique circumstances.  Most people that have an MRI have nothing more than a little discomfort from being in a confined space for about 15 minutes.  MRI scanning is routine in an emergency hospital, such as Royal Perth Hospital, and all across Australia’s major public hospitals.

Now, here’s the fun part.  How much do you think all this testing costs?  How much did it cost me?  The MRI scan alone costs are about AU$10,000.  Cost to me? AU$0.  That’s right.  Nothing.  Same for physiotherapy, pathology, rheumatology.  Even when I had the neurosurgery to remove the spiny growths of bone, the ruptured discs, and to reconstruct and repair fractured vertebrae using expensive titanium didn’t cost me a cent.  The room with a view that I had to myself for 2 weeks during recovery cost me nothing.  The rehab, zilch.  The fitting, construction and refitting of my high-tech orthotic?  Absolutely nothing.

Every Resident and Citizen of Australia has access to free, that’s right, free medical care at a public hospital.  There are private hospitals, but the only difference between the two is that private hospitals have more expensive art in the foyer and don’t have emergency facilities.  In fact, most consultants from all disciplines, including my wonderful rheumatologist, work in both private and public hospitals.

So how can it be free, and why?  The answer is simple.  Taxation pays for it.  It even subsidises General Practitioners so that going to a doctor is cheap, and in some cases, free.  Yes, that’s right, for some people it costs nothing to see a doctor.  Going further, most prescriptions are also subsidised, to the point that once a certain number of prescriptions have been used by an individual or family, for the rest of the calendar year all listed medications are free.  Yes, free.

Every Australian is aware of this to some point.  Most wouldn’t even think about it.

Surely this is madness!  Isn’t this socialist nonsense and surely it will bankrupt the country?  Like Greece for example?

Well, no.  It’s a vital service, Universal Health Care.  For those in the Tea Party movement in the US (referred, unflattering as “teabaggers”!) who are fighting to stop the Obama administration to trend towards Universal Health Care, countries like Canada, Australia, Great Britain, France and so on are to be pilloried for having such a blatantly evil “socialist” policy.

But if they really thought about it, why don’t they complain that the police or firefighters are part of a socialist agenda?  Or government schools?  Why should doctors become wealthy at the expense of patients when the police also have arguably difficult jobs, or firefighters or teachers?  Why is it that prisoners get better health care than they could ever hope to get outside of jail?  Or members of the US armed forces and veterans?  Or indigenous Americans?  Isn’t that also an evil socialist engineering program?

The fundamental arguments against Universal Health Care start to look pretty weak in light of the evidence.  Especially since those who make the most money out of the health industry in the US are the insurance companies are the same collection of people that make the decisions on what treatment, if any, a US citizen is entitled to, or what medication they can have.  It doesn’t take much brain power to understand that these people are making decisions based on a bottom line, not in terms of health outcomes for policy holders.

At the same time, medical services and medications costs in the US are practically extortionate.  This in turn means the insurers have to charge higher premiums, which mean less people, despite the Obama Administration’s changes to stop the practice of denying policies to people with pre-existing conditions, can afford any quality medical care.  Essentially, the US is a duality; those with money and influence get the best medical care money can buy at the expense of those who work just as hard, if not harder, for far less reward.

A civilised nation would treat all citizens as equal before the law, and enable access to all services on an equal footing, be it electricity, a police force, justice through the courts if accused of a crime, or health care.  A compassionate society would treat those who, for a variety of reasons, aren’t able to fully take care of themselves or make decisions for themselves about their welfare; this is no different to how parents look after their young children or children look after their aged parents.

Using taxes to pay for these things is money well spent.  Instead of someone who becomes horribly ill and unable to work never contributing to society ever again, they are more likely to be rehabilitated where they can contribute once again.  That in itself is a powerful incentive for the patient to become well again because no one likes to be dependent on others.

I would have thought most of this is self evident or self explanatory.  Anyone with a grain of sense would know Universal Health Care isn’t about a slippery slope to some form of evil Stalinism.  At least I believe anyone with a grain of sense would know that.

Of course, if critics wish to point out how I’m some form of bleeding heart lefty socialist, then fine.  Maybe I am.  I was born in, raised in, and live in a liberal socialist democracy.  That doesn’t mean a Laissez-faire, Marxist democracy, It means a free thinking, progressive, open to new ideas, let’s give everyone a fair go democracy.  Usually it means that governments are more centralist or left of centre than governments of the USA, but nonetheless a liberal socialist democracy is a long way right of Stalinist North Korea.

Critics are welcome, if they wish to ask me any questions they like.  I can begin by stating that currently I am on a Disability Support Pension.  It’s not a lot of money, but it’s enough for most things; rent, power, and as you can see, the internet.  And independence.  Would I rather be working?  Of course, but it’s not practical nor beneficial for myself or - more importantly - an employer at this point in my life.

Would I be just as happy if I was the one paying the tax and somebody else was on a pension due to illness or injury?  Absolutely.  Been there, done that, didn’t complain.

I leave with one final question: if you’re a US citizen and a “teabagger”, how would you like to be treated if you unexpectedly became ill for a protracted period?  Would you like to worry each day about how long the insurance is going to pay and what treatment they will pay for instead of focusing on getting better?  Or would you resign yourself to becoming homeless, even imprisoned for being homeless, when every one around you pities you but says you ought to have known this is what was going to happen and paid some faceless company more money.

It’s a conspiracy.

You know what?  Climate science is a conspiracy.  A conspiracy by scientists who have everything to gain by getting the truth out there before we are neck deep in acidic sea water.

On the other hand, far right-wing conservatives such as Lord Christopher Monckton have nothing to gain by asking people for a considerable sum of money to see a short power-point presentation showing lovely pictures of Greenland, all photoshopped to show vineyards and happy Vikings herding cows on lush grassy pastures.  Or the Houses of Parliament underwater with the caption “So what?”  How could Lord Monckton be gaining anything by showing a power-point presentation that cost bugger all to make and asking people to buy his books not allowing any questioning of his authority at all?  Besides, he’s preaching to the converted.  Oh, but he’s already rich, being landed gentry and peer of the realm, so any money he makes doesn’t mean anything. It’s all for paying the cause.

Also he doesn’t debate those silly scientists who insist climate change and oceanic acidification is real because the idiots only confuse and upset his audience.  Bless him.  He’s all above board that chap.

I need to work on my sarcasm; I don’t think I’ve been subtle enough.

People like Lord Monckton are dangerous.  These people decide on a position before there is any substantive evidence one way or another.  But that’s why they are policy makers, or rather policy drivers; in this case Lord Monckton was an adviser to the very conservative British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

Now it’s important to stress that some fundamental elements of true science is scepticism and debate.  Science cannot exist without debating with colleagues about the theory, the experiment, and the results.  Similarly the scientist must be sceptical but intrigued about the subject.  Often results are at first counter intuitive, so without some sceptical reasoning, the risk is that the easier option of a false conclusion based on a false assumption is taken.

But Lord Monckton isn’t a scientist; he was a journalist, becoming one at a time when a university degree wasn’t required.  Yet because he did some university, it apparently gives him enough credentials to be authoritative on the subject of Climate Science.

Recently there has been a bit of a kerfuffle about leaked emails from the “custodians” of climate science research, the University of East Anglia. The leak occurred because of unauthorised access.  Hacking, theft, stealing, call it what you want.  A few emails came to light because of this illegal activity.  These two emails from a few scientists who specialise in Climate Science, seemed to disagree with what the UEA Climate Science Unit has being saying, and the International Panel on Climate Change (the IPCC) as well.  But that is the nature of science; the method of collecting data should be debated.  Results should be argued.  The statistical analysis should be scrutinised and debated.

This is called Peer-Review.  If I have a theory, and then design an experiment to test the theory, then whatever the result may be (proving or disproving my theory), an independent experimenter should be able to replicate the results using the same method I did and come to the same conclusion.  And there should be debate on my experiment; is it an experiment that guaranteed to produce the results I predict? If so then somebody should put me in my place and say the experiment is flawed, and perhaps put up an alternative method for others to try.  Whatever I, or anyone else publishes, on the experiment it’s there to be critiqued at every step of the way.  It’s not a personal attack on me, or anyone else.  It’s simply being rigorous and thorough.

In the case of science when short time period experiments aren't practical (such as climate science), then there are other ways to collect data, formulate a model, and make predictions.  Yet the same methods of science hold true; the method of which data is collected, what it means, and how well the model stands up to scrutiny is all up for criticism and debate.

And this is the case with the UEA Climate Science Unit; 2 emails of dissent/criticism does not mean the science is wrong; it may be, but fact that other researchers have collected similar data and concluded with similar results does not mean there is a conspiracy, rather it means that the science is sound.  Not perfect, but sound, and there is healthy debate occurring with peers.

Again, take the IPCC.  They make predictions based on modelling, that is using statistical analysis based on data already collected.  The IPCC has been wrong with some forecasts.  Sometimes overly pessimistic, sometimes overly optimistic.  But why the outcry over being wrong over one prediction amongst literally hundreds that have been correct?

Every night news stations gather forecasts from private or government meteorological agencies.  We want to know what the weather is going to be tomorrow.  Currently we have expectations that the forecast be accurate for the next seven days.  Agencies like Australia’s Bureau of Meteorology provide forecasts for capital cities for 7 days and most major centres for 5 days.  Even places that city dwelling Australians have never heard of or can’t pronounce can have forecasts for 3 days.  There is nothing magical going on; the BoM is simply using modelling to arrive at a forecast.  Forecasters know the science and the limitations of the various models (yes, there is more than one model) and statistical analysis to write up or even amend a forecast.

The IPCC is no different apart from being a much larger, better funded international organisation.  So when hundreds of journalists, including Lord Monckton, quote the head of the IPCC, Professor Sir John Houghton, with “Unless we announce disasters, no one will listen” it must be true, right?  Surely that ads weight to the argument that whether it be the UEA or the IPCC or even the politically independent Australian taxpayer funded CSIRO, climate change is all a scam; it’s all about shonky scientists trying to make a name for themselves or Big Business conspiring to make money playing the Carbon Trading Exchanges, or governments conspiring to create a new tax without calling it a tax. Surely.  Absolutely positively this must be the case even if it means conflicting hypotheses and illogical assumptions.

As it turns out, Prof. Sir John Houghton never made such a statement.  The journalists with London’s The Independent and the researchers with the ABC’s Media Watch found the truth; a grubby hack and professional oxygen thief by the name of Piers Ackerman, who writes a column in Sydney’s Daily Telegraph, made up the oft quoted Sir John without any evidence that Sir John had ever said such a thing.

But it doesn’t matter to those that peddle the “we humans didn’t do it” or “it’s a conspiracy” message of their imaginary climate non-change.  Those who distrust science or are ignorant of the facts gladly line up to pay between AUD$50 and AUD$150 to listen to a message they want to hear; it’s alright, it’s not your fault and anyway they’re wrong and here’s the “evidence”.  It’s a new form of snake oil.  Make no mistake.  Not one speaker on the Climate Denial, or the Pro Status Quo as I prefer to call them, are true sceptics or real climate scientists.  Everyone from a geologist who believes the earth is less than 5,000 years old, Lord Monckton, a former employee of petroleum company, a pastor and a geologist who specialises in finding coal amongst others.  Not one climate scientist amongst them, and few versed in meteorology!  One former meteorologist who advises Lord Monckton has written a book opposing climate change, but refuses any portion of it to be peer reviewed.  All of them cherry pick data to suit themselves, use strawman arguments or simply misunderstand the raw data and make it fit what they already believe, i.e. relax people, it’s not us if there is any such thing as climate change.

There are dissenters, some of whom are on the IPCC panel and contribute to the reports.  I don’t have a problem with that because they are doing science, and aren’t being paid to do a power-point talk circuit in front of a paying group of people who want affirmations of “there is no human element to climate change, even if it does exist”, with the only motivations being money and anything, anything to prove the consensus of scientists on climate change wrong.

It’s an emotive issue, but it shouldn’t be.  The über greenies have been crying wolf for perhaps too long a time, so it can’t be about them.  So all that’s left is those who need the status quo, who need cheap coal, gas and oil.  But surely they don’t have a real voice; after all they don’t write letters to the editor every day…

Indeed they don’t.  They don’t have to.  After all, their PR companies can make the phone call or email the press release and the journalists will, by and large, write up the stories that are sympathetic to the big polluters.  They provide us with jobs, with electricity, with plastics, with everything we need and want from concrete to the latest gadget.  Don’t you see?  The government already over taxes them and now with governments fixated on this climate change thing your way of life is jeopardised.  Gosh and golly.  To cap it off, newspapers and magazines need paper, and they doesn’t come out of thin air…  So naturally the conservative media is biased against any climate change reporting; report only “bad” news sparingly, report the “good” - for the media and polluters - news repeatedly, and if you can’t find “good” news, make it up scary news that is unbelievable so that readers/watchers/listeners will later think “those scientists are on crack!”  Or do a Piers Ackerman and lie, telling the world that these climate scientists want to tell us really horrible things just so they are heard, and they don’t care about the truth.  Or even better - for the media and polluters - present one non-consensus view, qualified or not, against ten or more consensus views as balanced, objective journalism.

No wonder the public is confused, the non-consensus opinions are expressed in the media as fact, and any non-consensus science report is significantly distorted so that it appears that there is some kind of classroom brawl going on in the climate change field, that no-one agrees on anything.

Well, it has come to the point where the public isn’t so easily fooled or misled over these matters anymore.  They may not completely trust the scientists, but they trust them more than the media, fossil fuel companies and the dozens of Lord Monckton wannabes that are trying to make their fortunes by cashing in on the debate rather than contribute to it in an enlightened, positive way.

The Truth About Dogs

I’ve received the news I didn’t want to hear only hours ago.  The emotion is raw and painful but holding it all in is impossible and stupid.

Peanut was a rescued dog, at the end of his puppy-hood.  He was scheduled to be euthanised literally the day after he came into my life.  He needed so much love and attention and affection, being emotionally damaged from abuse and neglect.  My first concern was how long would it take for him to become a normal dog?  He was scared of people, of toys, of contact.  It took months of intense emotional investment to get him to enjoy chasing a ball, being confident with other dogs despite his toy Jack Russell size: his head as an adult was no bigger than my outstretched hand.  He weighed about 5 kilograms.

Three weeks ago, something wasn’t right.  He lost his appetite, and even when he did eat would vomit within hours.  And continue on vomiting.  I wasn’t unduly concerned as long as he was drinking water.  He then stopped even that and I forced him to drink.  I stayed with him for two nights fitfully sleeping either on the floor or on the couch, acutely aware on the second night that he could die at any moment.

The next day a vet checked him and concluded that it was nothing serious.  Perhaps a canine influenza or minor stomach complaint.

Slowly, over the week he was getting better.  Much better.  Eating properly again.  I felt relieved that the worst of whatever he had was over, even if he preferred to lie in his basket or on my lap.  Even so, his belly was slowly becoming distended, and his favourite toy, an old orange ball, would only be chased down once, without much enthusiasm.

Last Saturday (13/02/2010), while he lay on my lap, I noticed how laboured his breathing had become.  Prior I had arranged to meet up with acquaintances at a Northbridge bar, and so took him for his much loved “walkies”.  His ears pricked up, his eyes lit up, but his body wasn’t so keen until his lead was on.

It was a slower than normal, even tentative, walk, but he was more than happy to be out and and about.  At the bar, in the courtyard, he was a chick magnet, which was hilarious ironic!  And despite not being totally comfortable, he wasn’t in pain, and was more than happy to lay at my feet off the lead or on my lap as I sat and chat and drank.

The next day – Sunday – we spent a few hours in a shady, grassy park.  He trotted around, sniffed here and there, an would lie down in some cool shade to catch his breath, before chasing down his favourite orange ball, then resting again.  I knew then what ever it was, it was serious, despite Peanut being his happy little self.

Later that day, my ex, who was Peanut’s other “parent”,  came to collect him for his “turn at custody”.  I was always Peanut’s “daddy”: I was the one who taught him all the basic obedience that all dogs should have, I was the one who took him for walks, I was the one who played with him to give him his confidence back with strangers and other dogs, I was the one that imposed the discipline of regimented meal times.  It all sounds “me, me, me” but honestly I was the leader of our pack, my ex just didn’t have the experience, patience or discipline that I had.  So whenever there was a game of “who does Peanut love most”, I would always win.  Of course I didn’t have a monopoly on loving him, nor did he only bond with me.  But the inevitable conclusion is I was, and still am, the one with the greater emotional burden despite this not being a contest.

I gave my ex a list of verbal instructions about Peanut’s care.  Importantly that if he was still without appetite and his distended belly grew even by a small amount then he would need to see a vet again.  I was hoping it was only a case of constipation due to an obstruction, but also knew that a tumour was highly likely.

On Monday it was decided that Peanut should see a vet again.  An ultrasound was taken and a mass was pressing up against his diaphragm.  Again, I was hopeful that it would be a benign tumour or a cyst, but it would have to be surgically removed.  As soon as I heard the news, I dropped everything to be with Peanut on what would turn out to be his last night.  My ex and I had discussed at length what we both wanted to do and what was best for Peanut.  We agreed on all points.  If the tumour was malignant, or couldn’t be safely removed, then euthanasia was the only humane option.  The issue was never about money, rather making sure that Peanut didn’t needlessly suffer.

That Tuesday night., he wanted to lay in my lap, and later he wanted to sleep on me as I went to bed on a make do mattress on the floor.  He only wanted to be with what sounded and smelt familiar.  It’s a dog thing and for him it did mean being less stressed than had I not been there.

Wednesday morning, the vet surgeon removed the mass, and was hopeful of a recovery, despite the mass being nearly 1 kg, or 20% of his weight.  After fifteen minutes, things looked good enough to continue.  45 minutes later the story was different, with the mass being attached to his gall bladder.  But it was worth continuing.

After an hour, a drain was inserted, an IV put in, and he was closed up, wrapped up and put in a warm crib for recovery with the words “hopeful” the best prognosis.  Everything is a risk: anaesthetic is a risk – it depresses the central nervous system so that the cardiopulmonary systems fails, i.e. heart failure and or breathing stops – surgery itself is a risk, even recovery is a risk just as it is in humans.  The alternative was not palatable as the tumour would slowly suffocate him as well as compress his stomach to the point he couldn’t eat or drink, like having a gastric band fitted by the dodgiest of quacks that shut off the stomach completely.

Peanut was looking the worse for wear, as one would expect and had a low core temperature but recovery meant being externally warmed, and a transfusion and constantly being checked by staff.

Sadly, at 9:15pm Wednesday night, Peanut had enough.

Writing about this event is cathartic.  Yes, I feel better for writing the time-line as I remember it, and for writing about Peanut’s circumstances that lead to his death.  And yes, I feel terrible about it for many reasons, not least publicly expressing what could be seen as as emotionless nonsense to justify my actions or inactions.  There are many truths that are not yet written.  Foremost is that ever since I left the surgery I’ve felt both numb and void and yet without a moment’s relief of thinking about him without tears welling up in my eyes.

The simplest truths I can share is that I have lost a big part of my happiness.  Yet there was nothing that could have been done differently that would have arrived to a different outcome.  Although only six or seven years old, Peanut has had at least five years more than he would otherwise have had, and not just a half decade of quantity, but of quality.  From being a terrified pup rescued from a horrible start in life to being earmarked for euthanasia because a suitable home couldn’t be found to having a very good life of being constantly loved, cared for and rehabilitated.  There is nothing I would have done any differently.

But that truth isn’t a one-way street.  It certainly was never a case of me giving of myself in some sort of selfless act.  He contributed to my life much more than I to his.  Peanut selflessly gave this partial paraplegia and chronic pain disabled man many things; a reason to get up in the morning, the ability to take the focus of my needs, and joy I needed when I needed it most.

Now is the time to grieve.  To acknowledge his death appropriately.  To feel sorry for him.  To feel sorry for myself.  Ultimately to never forget Peanut.  It’s difficult at the moment not to think about about how good it felt every time I pet him, or the look of bliss on his face when I scratched between his ears or under his chin.  How he would gently put out his front right paw and gently touch me when he wanted a little attention, how his tail would furiously whip side to side when he saw his favourite orange ball in my hand.  When he knew I was in awful pain how he would very, very gently lie on me, resting his head in the crook of an arm that made me feel better.

I shall miss Peanut, the little bugger, the funny little Jack Russell who died at the midpoint of what Jack Russells would normally live.  Same as I miss Sam, the wonderful faithful companion Blue Healer I had for many years, and before him, Defa, the “bitsa” that just loved nothing more than going bush with me.

There are a few litres of tears to flow when thinking of Peanut yet.  Death isn’t something we ‘just get over’, it’s something we come to terms with.  Later today when I collect his collar, I’m sure I’ll hear the tinkling of his tags as he trots (he only had two speeds: trot and flat out running).

The worst is yet to come, and it’s a selfish thing.  The worst is the void created.  That I’ll forget he’s gone and call for him, or I’ll see a toy of his and his absence makes his life that more real and the loss that much greater.

The truth about cats and dogs isn’t that they die.  It’s that given a chance they enrich our lives in ways people can’t.

Australia Day? Invasion Day? What a Load of Jingoistic Crap

A son of a German shoves a Union Jack on the shores of Botany Bay, proclaiming that a terra nullus is now the property of a King George III, whom is completely mad from the hereditary disease porphyria and is not English but German, during a time of malcontent by those the New World (American) colonies.  How is this a day for Australia, let alone representative of England’s expanding empire?

It reminds me of an Episode of Blackadder Goes Forth (General Hospital), where Capt. Blackadder is tasked to root out a German spy in a WWI field hospital: having tied Capt. Darling to a chair Blackadder interrogates, and Darling finally cracks under the pressure “I’m as British as Queen Victoria!” to which Blackadder attacks with “You mean your father's German, you're half German and you married a German?!”

I’m not anti-German or anti-British or even anti-Calathumpian.  The point is how ridiculous that Australia Day is about the establishment of the Botany Bay Colony (NSW), which has nothing to do with South Australia, Tasmania or Western Australia, and Australians in general.  Particularly immigrants (aren’t we all?) and indigenous peoples.  That doesn't leave very many Australian Citizens left.

Surely this artificial date, linked to firing a few muskets to the strains of God Save The King, is not appropriate for now let alone pre-Federation.

Perhaps a better date is when the Premiers of each colony first sat together and, with the “mother country” (English or German?) agreed on the referendum that would put our nation on the path of a successful Federation, remembering that both Western Australia and South Australia both had universal suffrage - for non-indigenous peoples - for those aged 21 and over?  A second date could be set aside to celebrate the successful referendum in which indigenous peoples won the right to be recognised as people with the same rights as citizens and thus given the vote.

Perhaps the real “Australia Day”, then, should be 2nd March to reflect the first day of the meeting of all Colonies to push for Federalism.

In the same way, 26th August should mark “Vincent Lingiari Day”: the walk off by Aboriginal stockmen from Wave Hill, which precipitated the overwhelmingly successful 1967 referendum which removed the power of the Commonwealth government as to how indigenous people could be treated.  (Contrary to popular belief, in some states indigenous peoples did have citizenship and were allowed to vote in state elections.)

As for the current “Australia Day”, it’s time to let go.  Unless you are a New South Welsh man or woman, and even then it would be better to rename it as "Foundation Day, NSW".

Daylight Saving? Yawn

Don’t like missing out on Daylight Saving?  Disappointed WA voted for the 4th time “No”?  Then referendums are obviously not the way to go. May I suggest you go to New South Wales or Victoria or Tasmania or — the eternal purgatory – South Australia.

You see, I don’t really care if Perth has DLS or not; and let’s face it Perth/Mandurah/Bunbury is the socio-political critical mass of Western Australia.  Does DLS cause more car accidents?  Probably not.  Do more people sun themselves at the beach after getting home from a stressful day at the office with DLS?  I doubt it, except for the above average wage earners in the beach-side suburbs.  Do kids not sleep properly at night because the sun sets later?  Maybe not.

Whatever arguments that are put up, there are counter arguments.

But I’ll let you into a secret.  I voted no.  And I’ll tell you why.

If you’ve ever lived in the North of the state (and I don’t mean the suburbs of Joondalup and Wanneroo) then you’ll know you get roughly 12 hours of sunlight each day all year round.  It doesn’t vary as much as does in Tasmania.  Or even the Southern Coastal towns like, for example, Hopetoun.

I chose Hopetoun for a particular reason.  Hopetoun is less than 10km East of the 120°E Easting, which is where WA officially measures its time zone.  And Hopetoun is roughly on the same Northing as Sydney.  So if anywhere would need that extra bit of daylight at the end of the day it would be Hopetoun.  After all, with sunrise as early as 5am, they could do with the extra light at the end of the day rather than the beginning.

Well, it’s not that simple.  During the height of summer, the sun rises and sets in the ocean.  But in winter, is rises and sets over land.  In Hopetoun’s case having a bloody big hill the size of a mountain to the West reduces winter daylight by as much as an hour.

What’s this go to do with Perth?  We don’t have any mountains.  The sun always sets in the Indian Ocean for shore dwellers.  Being 5° West of the 120°E mark means Perth has less morning and more afternoon all year round.  A kind of built in DSL.  5° may not sound very much, but it means Perth can get over 20 minutes of DLS.  Plus not having the sun set over mountains, unlike Sydney, means more twilight.

But that’s not the real reason for voting no.  The Office of Energy did an audit of power consumption during the 3 year Day Light Savings Trial, and was supposed to release the data to the public before the last referendum.  I guess the idea being that because we were all at the beach being sand-blasted by the Fremantle Doctor, we weren’t using our electricity guzzling reverse cycle air-conditioners.  And so, the theory goes, we weren’t burning as much gas and coal in our power stations.

How could we be so naïve!  The Independent Market Regulator washed its hands of the issue, and no documents have been allowed under the Freedom of Information Act (WA) to say whether more or less power was consumed.  However, since the former Carpenter government thought it necessary to re-commission a coal fired power-plant, one becomes suspicious.

Yes, we know that Apache’s Varanus Island gas plant exploded, but Apache are still fighting NOPSA in the courts over the inspection, and anyway, even when the Carpenter government enacted a reserve of 25% of all gas produced to be for WA domestic and industrial use, no plans have been made to decommission the re-commissioned power station.  Even with the current Barnett government, even with more gas available and a plan to keep storing energy so that we urbanites won’t have to go without power again.

Conclusion: they are hiding something from us, and it isn’t the Office of Energy’s good news.

Yes, we may dream that we’ll go down to the beach after work.  With the kids.  Get some sunlight — but not too much because we don’t want any more skin cancers than we already have — and all the fun stuff that the warmer weather brings.  But let’s not kid ourselves.  At most we’ll only spend more time down at the pub or at a mate’s barbie.  Or as earlier this week proved, 3 consecutive days over 41.1°C (106°F) and 5 consecutive days over 37.8°C (100°F), it was no surprise as the grid again failed.  We had been warned about this before, and we are being warned it will happen in the future.

No matter if you prefer DLS, don’t grumble to me about how awful it is doing business with those over east.  Let’s face it, it’s awful doing business anyway and the money comes into this state from those in our timezone, eg Beijing, not outside it (Sydney, Melbourne).