AMERICA EXISTS AT MANY levels. It's a real nation of people with geographic territory and a federal State, it's the constantly self-referenced ideal of constitutional self-government, it's a historical tradition of progress and of dynamism, it's the religious-liberal experiment of shining lighthood and citizenship in the city on the hill, it's the artificially bright lights of Hollywood. It also exists of course as a culinary-industrial tradition admired and imitated around the world, for example by Khrushchev, who ate a hot dog and declared the sausage 'good, but not enough'.
Down the road from my office lies what will always to me be the America Burger shop. It has a name but that's irrelevant; it sells burgers with chips and soft drink, American-style, it plays Bon Jovi, it plants the Stars and Stripes on its food. So far as I can tell it has no American employees whatsoever. The food is bad for me and more expensive than it really has any claim to be, but I love it and return, and I return, and I return. A meat pattie, barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, tomato, lettuce, curly chips, soft drink, please.
Australians are inescapably culturally linked to the United States; how could we not be sharing the Pacific and the post-war alliance? Even earlier the two societies found a common settler-colonial self-belief, and it's no accident that Australians looked across the Pacific to set up a House of Representatives and a Senate in our federated country, then put it in a Capitol architecturally drafted by a pair of Yanks. Our self-regard is American, our provincialism is American.
So when our neighbours across the Pacific do... whatever the hell it is they're doing, it's a profound break not just in a relationship but in our own self-conception. Are they really going to do the little-green-men trick and annex Greenland? Withdraw thoroughly from the world? Everyone thinks through the practical questions of where it might leave Australia politically and internationally---nowhere good---but maybe of more salience is where would that level of isolationism leave us, culturally?
For the purposes of data monitoring, the city is divided into sections, called ‘grids’. Grid workers, employed at the lowest level of the civil service system, are required to know the households in the grids under their jurisdiction: they need to know which apartments have elderly people, which have tenants, which have pregnant women, which have family members overseas, which are in the middle of lawsuits, which have bad relationships between mother and daughter-in-law, which have frequent quarrels, which are rich, which are poor. Even an elderly woman who doesn’t know how to use a smartphone and doesn’t watch TV is constantly feeding data into this network by turning lights on and off, using the toilet or turning on the stove. ‘With this eye of wisdom,’ Li gestured to the building around us, ‘everyone will be looked after.’
Howard W. French: 'Toffler in China'. New York Review of Books, 10 April 2025
How competent or thorough these emerging online means for surveillance and political control will prove to be is still an open question. What is certain is that the enlistment of citizens in the policing of the population has venerable roots in China, dating at least as far back as the Mao period. At that time even family members were notoriously encouraged to inform on one another, and neighborhoods had their own resident inspection committees that reported on every aspect of people’s behavior, including whether or not women were missing their menstrual periods, a possible sign of evasion of strict birth control measures.
The ambition of the current efforts, though, is beyond doubt. The embattled lawyers in Total Trust lay out its scope. “The system uses big data and human surveillance. It divides every community into grids and assigns an officer to each one,” one says. “Each grid officer is in charge of about four hundred households, or one thousand residents,” explains an officer. Equally clear is that the system under construction is not placing all its bets on technology.
A BEER AND A pie at the football was once the Australian norm and tradition, with sausage sizzle as the alternative and substitute for local matches. But now we, in both respect to multiculturalism and market service to gentrified crowds, do better. I went to see Sydney FC defeat Jeonbuk FC in the Asian Champions League (2) at Moore Park Stadium, and ate
salsipão with my craft beer on tap. My goodness what a world of glorious sport we live in. True to my dinner, Diego Costa scored.
On screen and facing the public, he was a conviction politician. But behind the scenes—as with the arms for hostages trading—the bazaar was open for business.
Ronald Reagan has been a central figure in my reading lately. Rick Perlstein's Reaganland, and the above review of Max Boot's biography, which I think I'll get to soon. Reagan seems to be a central figure also in our current affairs; a world-historical reactionary with a sunny show on his face of American virtue---in which he fully believed---covering over a core of pragmatic transactionism. Reagan's America is the one that endures into the post-Cold War: sunny in speech, dirty in acts, religious and sordid, a dynamic culture in a gerontocratic and ossified political system.
Like everyone else I have been shocked at the United States' rush under its current President to withdraw from its commitments and alliances. Call it a pair to the moral shock of the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, a moment of sheer clarity, about what the world is and what Australia's part in it is (very little). I don't think we're ever going to see those submarines, no matter what promises are on paper. But the shock is I think less at the unexpectedness than from, in the philosopher's phrase, being at last compelled to face, in sober senses, the real conditions of American realism and transactionalism in the way it treats other countries and its friends.
Reagan's habit of telling stories about American exceptional virtue was based on genuine belief. His practice of acting according to interests, rather than values, was what made him significant. This present moment was always there and the shock of American cynicism is just our own recognition---we knew all along.
