THE MONTHLY ESSAYS

"Following the collapse of communism in Europe and the conversion of China from Marxism-Leninism to an unpleasantly authoritarian version of Market-Leninism, the reputation of Wilfred Burchett, the most controversial and influential communist in Australian history, seemed destined gradually to sink. Oddly enough, this has by no means been the case ... Part of the reason lies in the determination of George Burchett, who has been an intrepid defender of his father's literary legacy and political standing. Part of it lies in the rise of anti-American sentiment among the Australian intelligentsia, following the unlawful and catastrophic invasion of Iraq. Part of it lies in the parochialism of many members of the Australian Left."

In "Agent of Influence", Robert Manne revisits the vexed matter of journalist Wilfred Burchett. Burchett's famous report from Hiroshima after the American bombing of 1945 is a work of "world-historical importance" and rightly praised. But was all his subsequent writing tainted by an unswerving allegiance to an ideology that, in a series of regimes, caused the deaths of millions of people? Would not such loyalty result in work that, far from being honest "reports from the other side", as Burchett's defenders maintain, amounts to propaganda?

"The young Hungarian communist Tibor Méray worked alongside Wilfred Burchett in Korea. He points out that the Chinese controlled every word Burchett wrote. ‘It was Shen Chen-tu, the Chinese government official, who told Burchett what to write, and he supervised it every day. Burchett followed directives without fail. Shen was Burchett's boss and he was Shen's subordinate' ... Within the communist world Burchett carved out for himself an unusual, perhaps unique, position. A biography which managed to uncover how he managed to juggle his relations with different communist regimes would be fascinating to read. It is unlikely ever to be written. On this question, Burchett's massive autobiography is singularly uninformative. He took his secrets with him to the grave."

"‘Robbie', an Adelaide-based member of the Finks Motorcycle Club, got a new tattoo to celebrate the South Australian government's war on bikies. He now has the word ‘Finks' emblazoned across his throat in bold green type. It was an indescribably painful process, but Robbie, a 25-year veteran of the club, endured it for what the tattoo symbolises. He is not going to hide away, nor submit to the labels anybody else might give him. He has a criminal record and has done time, but he refuses to be typecast as a criminal. He operates on a different plane altogether, willing to do some short jail terms in order to maintain a life of medieval-style knight errantry. If they send him back to prison, it will just give him more time to master the Navajo flute, which he has been learning to play."

In "Club Rules", Adam Shand takes us behind the phoney war on bikie clubs. These are not outlaw gangs, he argues, nor criminal rackets; clamping down on clubs, rather than wayward individuals associated with them, will only lead to greater trouble.

"‘[Bikie] involvement in outwardly legitimate business enterprises is potentially impacting adversely on a number of key market sectors in Australia, including finance, transport, private security, entertainment, natural resources and construction,' the ACC had told the Age. This was serious. Bikies, it seemed, were taking over the world. I called the ACC to get the source material. The dossier was a page and a half. I called the ACC back and asked for clarification, for some examples of the evil conglomerate's activities. I emailed my questions; the ACC promised to respond. It did not. Finally, I contacted the ACC spokesman, who was not allowed to speak to me. He broke ranks and said that all at the ACC were too busy. Perhaps spreading fear is a full-time job."

"When, as a young woman, I decided I wanted to wander around the Australian deserts, using camels as transport, it was still just possible to go through that country as a free agent, to stay beneath any kind of radar, to take full responsibility for one's own life. Could such a journey be done in the same way now? No, I think not. There would be many more people out there, in vehicles, in tourist buses, in small aircraft. And they would have many more ways of keeping tabs on each other. Mobile phones. GPS gizmos. Computers. There would be all sorts of red tape I'd be entangled in before I could even get going. New laws about where I could or could not go, could or could not camp. Whether I could use wood for my campfire, or carry a rifle. Satellites could keep an eye on me. I would have to work very, very hard to get lost."

And in "Living", Robyn Davidson offers an elegant plea for a radical rethinking of how we live: for the individual and for individual responsibility, for self-discovery and yet for accepting the hand dealt us.

"Bureaucracy has become so omnipresent that we're inured to it. We seem not to notice that our behaviour is controlled more by anonymous rules choreographing us from the outside than by our own volition. We are ovine. The logic of bureaucracy is to grow, mycelia-like, through life's fabric, stifling free impulse, bringing everything and everyone under its control. It often appears to act in the interest of ‘the public good'. Or ‘for the community'. But at the root of the bureaucratic mindset is a hatred of the individual. And it is now inescapable."

THE NATION REVIEWED

"Is Malcolm Turnbull all that stands between Australia and a one-party state? We all know the picture: Labor governments in all states and territories, as well as Canberra; the Lord Mayor of Brisbane the highest-ranking Liberal officeholder in the land; and state Liberal parties in unbelievable disarray. Western Australia's is led by a confirmed sleaze; New South Wales' is in the hands of the unrepresentative hard-right faction; Queensland's has only eight seats and is arguing about whether to merge with the Nationals; and Victoria's has uncovered a nest of young idiots in head office running a blog dishing out insults to the current leader and his allies. Then there's poor old Brendan Nelson, nodding and smiling away on borrowed time while everyone waits to see just when and how Turnbull becomes the leader. It's inevitable that all that competence and ambition will have its day."

In the Monthly Comment, Judith Brett looks at the end of party politics and the rise of new political forms. No longer are the Labor and Liberal parties distinguishable in traditional ways - such as membership, structure or economic policy - and this is leading, Brett argues, to less adversarial modes of politics, like community cabinets, which more accurately reflect people's needs and experiences. Herein lies a trap for a new Opposition struggling to articulate a different plan for the nation ...

"We know how important incumbency is in attracting people to politics. Tossing up between Labor and Liberal, both Nelson and Turnbull opted for the Liberals, in part because it seemed the shortest route to the ministry. Talent flooded into the federal Labor Party last year, when it looked like it had a real chance of winning government And Peter Costello and Alexander Downer struggle between their obligation to the constituents who have just elected them and a very understandable desire to flee their sudden loss of relevance. But is the pull of power enough to give us good politicians? Shouldn't they also believe in something? Represent people and interests beyond themselves? Shouldn't they join the party that most represents their political values, rather than the one that gives them the best chance of gaining office?"

"‘It's really about getting together,' says Roy, who lives eight hours away. ‘There's no string music in the town I live in, so this is my chance to play. The bond between us is there because of the music.' Dorothy, who is still a friend of Dave's 25 years after teaching him music at high school, says, ‘I wouldn't play if it wasn't for occasions like this, and when we all sit down to concentrate and perform together it reminds me of something I keep forgetting - which is just how much I love the music.'"

In "Divertimento", Cate Kennedy finds Mozart in the Australian bush, spending time with a small group of farmers and teachers whose respite from the rigours of everyday life is the "oasis" of playing classical music together, and whose performances enrapture audiences in small country towns starved of such fare.

"The audience of 60 settles and the ensemble members make quick eye contact with each other, calming their nerves, before they turn their expectant gaze on Edie. Or rather, on Edie's hands, which wait in the air as if holding a fine skein to the light. There is shyness in the players' expressions, something ready to plunge. They raise their bows, and at that first cascade of sound every face in the room is suddenly tilted into absolute attentiveness, leaning forward slightly."

And in "Repo Man", Craig Sherborne talks with a man charged with repossessing assets from those who, whether from living the high life or unwittingly getting in too deep, can no longer meet their loan repayments.

"Repo work is very safe work, except when it isn't. A little size on your frame is a useful asset, even though repossessing isn't as wild as the old days, before the '90s, when it was niche employment for standover men. Now there's a swag of regulations about when, where and how a defaulter, whom some in the repo game refer to as the ‘head', can be confronted. It's more mind game than muscle. Peter Morey has a saying: ‘I'd rather kiss you than fight you.' But it's not necessarily something a defaulter cares to listen to. He has been clobbered with lumps of wood, fended away shotguns from his face, had pregnant women take a swing at him on the back of a tow truck."

There's also Ashley Hay, in "The Charm of a Charm", discovering the particular attractions of finches of every colour and breed at a finch-fanciers' conference in Brisbane; and Alice Pung, in "Franchise Nation", investigating the world's most heavily franchised country, Australia.

ARTS & LETTERS

"Less-is-more is an edict that has never gained much leverage in rock 'n' roll. More-is-more is the preferred option, with record companies (the majors, traditionally) willing to bankroll artists' excess in the studio and on the road. The change usually comes with the downturn of an artist's career, or when a successful band sees the benefit of starkness and simplicity after a few albums with orchestras and choirs. Older artists come to it through experience, realising that a song can breathe and a lyric can be heard with less background chatter. The explosion in computer-based home recording has also fed into this cycle. There are only so many musicians you can fit into your bedroom or shed, and - coupled with the limited recording skills of most home engineers - this has led to a proliferation of smaller, more intimate albums being released on indie labels over the past ten years or so."

In "The Banjo is the New Stratocaster", Robert Forster goes country and compares two notable new Australian albums. On Rattlin' Bones, husband-and-wife team Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson ditch slick production in favour of roots-influenced alt-country; while the rough-and-ready sound of From One to Another, by The Darling Downs (Kim Salmon and Ron Peno), resembles the field recordings made in the American South during the 1940s and '50s.

"America was the major instigator of sanctions against Saddam Hussein in the 1990s. Oil exports, Iraq's only earner, were cut to almost nothing. The civilian population was reduced to penury; hospitals had no medical supplies and equipment failed; government services collapsed. Patrick Cockburn, who was reporting from inside Iraq in those years, writes bitterly about this dreadful time, when the sanctions killed more Iraqis than Saddam's busy butchers. Thousands of old people and children died from disease and starvation. Naturally, Saddam and his enforcers avoided the pain, using smuggled oil to pay for their lifestyles. But the poorest of the poor, the Shiah, had nothing."

In "The Bigger Devil", Tony Clifton looks at an on-the-spot account of the destruction of Iraq and the rise of Muqtada al-Sadr, "the most important and surprising figure to emerge since the US invasion". Patrick Cockburn, long a Middle East correspondent for the Independent, sketches the life story of the shadowy al-Sadr, a Shiah cleric who now leads a 60,000-strong militia fighting the Americans on Baghdad streets.

"Muqtada will very likely rule his country after the Americans pack their tents and depart, which will start soon after George W Bush leaves office, next January. For there is no one among the discredited pack of incompetents, sycophants and corrupt opportunists now ruling Iraq as America's placemen who could possibly challenge him. That's if no one assassinates him, of course, and assassination is the favoured way of changing leaders in Iraq."

And in "Such Desirable Objects", Anna Cater revisits Frank Hurley's remarkable photographs of Papua in the 1920s, and the items that Hurley and biologist Allan McCulloch took from local tribes there, examples of which are on display at the Australian Museum in Sydney. The exhibition reveals the disturbing provenance of works by one of the nation's most distinguished photographers.

"In a longhouse at Kaimare, Hurley and McCulloch sat down for discussions with the local men, who finally agreed to part with 17 bullroarers in exchange for 17 sticks of tobacco and a ‘present' of rice. (Bullroarers are small wooden objects that are swung on a string to create the sound of a spirit. They were stored in the restricted part of the longhouse.) The men of Kaimare were uncomfortable about selling their cultural heritage, but capitulated after the intruders used threatening language. Hurley wrote in his diary that the men's anxiety about this outside interference in their customs would be rectified by "the slow progress of civilisation, and the enlightening which it brings". McCulloch noted that he had stolen an extra bullroarer, a theft discovered later by the authorities when he accidentally left his Register of Collections in Port Moresby."

Plus, in "Winging It", Luke Davies revels in the whimsical absurdities of the HBO comedy series Flight of the Conchords, which recounts the adventures of two musical Kiwis in New York City; in "Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Strong", Peter Craven looks at the state of opera in Australia, and calls for the vigour and freshness of the recent production of Strauss's Arabella to be repeated; and in "And You Can Too", Gideon Haigh enters the weird and wordy world of book subtitling, where, these days, longer is always better.

There's also James Bradley on Big Love, HBO's polygamist drama; Martin Shaw on Nam Le's debut, The Boat, a much-anticipated collection of dark and elegant short stories; and Shane Maloney on the encounters of Greek singer Nana Mouskouri and Australian writer Frank Hardy.

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