Stopping Morrison, not the Boats.

Who would have thought that the now well worn mantra of ‘stopping the boats’ still holds Australia up to ridicule in the rest of the world? Those three words meant hell for several thousands of refugees held in off-shore detention for many years now. Australia is flaunting international law that give a right to people seeking refugee status escaping from wars.

How has it been possible for Scott Morrison, and his henchman Peter Dutton, to have hijacked a nation’s conscience and soul for such nasty political point scoring, and for so long! Surely we can’t allow this government (lower case) continue to ignore the public opinion that have shifted to what we once were; a humane nation who cared for others, especially those from war torn countries, especially the refugee, especially those who came by boats.

This coming week the government will again vote on the medevac bill allowing doctors to decide on  refugees in need of medical treatment to be evacuated to mainland Australia to get the  medical care instead of Peter Dutton who seems to get a special type of pleasure in unhinging refugees to the point of suicide…More than twenty refugees on Manus have attempted or have committed suicide so far.

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-05-29/growing-surge-in-refugee-self-harm-since-australian-election/11156064

The tuna dish.

wives waiting for their men at Scheveningen

We all know that fish is good. As we get older and start to stumble with memories and forget the name of a previous world champion runner or a failed Prime minister, it is time to call in the fishing fleet. As a child I used to watch this fleet coming in with the first herring which would be rushed and presented to the Dutch queen. Those first herrings used to cost a fortune. Our family would wait for the price to fall before able to buy them. The fishermen’s wives were waiting anxiously  at the peers for the boats to come in.

I was at the tail end of the herring fleet still being under sails. I might have been nine years or so. It wasn’t always that the boats would come back. It was a risky business and storms on the North Sea were frequent and dangerous. Many a husband would be lost. In those days the women waiting at the peer still wore traditional clothing, dark brown billowing skirts down to the ankle, and white head- gear. Perhaps they also wore a lacy scarf around their shoulders. It was all so long ago.

Now-a-days, fishing vessels are so large and so sophisticated they graze the ocean floor like never before. The whole area would be covered in miles of netting more or less depleting everything that swam. I remember two years ago a huge Dutch factory boat tried to enter Australian waters to fish. The local protesting fishermen were successful in fighting for their own rights to fish. The Dutch ship retreated and lost their case. Why has everything become so unromantic? I know losing your life while fishing isn’t romantic but so much of the past made and held memories. What memories will our grandchildren nurture in their old age? Perhaps in the future the Alzheimer will be cured by simply living along life’s path without anything remarkable to imprint on our memory’s storage. Memories will simply not be there anymore to lose!

Here is a dish to remember though. It is simple, cheap, healthy and guaranteed to refresh memories of failed Prime ministers and long time champions including Zátopek.

Its ingredients are potatoes, a good leek, onions, garlic, milk, herbs, a bit of butter, a bunch of bok-choy, tinned tuna in oil and little salt, pepper and chili. Also, young grated cheese.

Bok-choy

Simply slice thinly a few potatoes and in layers interspersed with all the above sliced ingredient, place in a oven-proof ceramic dish. Soak the whole lot in milk level with the top of the dish and bake for an hour or so at 150C temperature. Make sure you are generous with the grated cheese on top to make sure this is brown and crusty. You then eat it with your spouse without saying a single word, except at times, just say mmm and again mmm.

I do hope my grandkids will remember my pancakes made with buttermilk.

We will all be lucky to get out alive.