by Heather Rose
‘The hydro schemes back in the fifties,’ Tweedle-Plumb said. ‘They were built by foreign labour. Slavs and Poles and Krauts.’
‘But not Asians, Senator,’ said May gently. ‘And they were a long way from Hobart. Not visible to everyday Tasmanians.’
‘We had the Hmong people at Salamanca market for years before they moved to northern New South Wales,’ said JC. ‘Tasmanians liked them.’
‘But they grew vegetables,’ said May Chen. She and I exchanged a glance. This conversation wasn’t surprising either of us.
There was another exchange between May Chen and Gao Enzhu.
‘The Chinese government,’ said May Chen, ‘and our Eternal Fragrant President, would like this to be an opportunity for exchange with the Tasmanian people. Our government is proud to be participating in this project. Tell me, what efforts will be made to ensure that the integration of local and foreign workers is positive?’
The Chinese president had recently consolidated his power under the new title of Eternal Fragrant President and had appointed himself to the role for life. I couldn’t help but suppress a smile, imagining a spate of Chinese restaurants emerging: Eternal Fragrant Lotus Flower, Eternal Fragrant Floating Dragon, Eternal Fragrant Harmony …
But May Chen’s question about the integration of the workers was not about logistics. It was a cultural question. When the Chinese wanted to woo the world, they did it with culture. Plays, architecture, ballet, design, opera, art, film, poetry. Shame they’d killed a whole generation of creatives under Chairman Mao.
‘We have briefed our advertising agency,’ said JC’s PR person. He was a bearded young man in a pink shirt and deeper pink floral tie. ‘But these things take time. Obviously we will create good news stories.’
‘Shame it’s not footy season,’ said JC. ‘We could have a special match. Or table tennis? Could we have a tournament?’
May Chen smiled beatifically, to her credit. There was chuckling around the table from Tweedle-Plumb, Abbott and a couple of JC’s minions. Viper was humourless.
Aid-n-Abet said, ‘Yes, but it’s not simply a matter of advertising or PR. Am I right? I think we need to devise an appropriate community engagement strategy.’
Everyone but the Chinese nodded.
‘We could have an update on TasInvest,’ suggested JC. ‘Get the president back. Ace, what do you think? You’re on the ground.’
‘The question is time. The workers are about to arrive. The community is tense,’ I said. ‘Public sympathy for the bridge may be up, but overwhelmingly people believe investment would be better placed in other projects for Tasmania. Even among those for the bridge, there’s a distinct sense that they want this bridge to be a wholly Tasmanian project. They’re not happy about foreign labour. They’d rather the bridge took longer to build. If those people for the bridge but against foreign labour start seeing eye to eye with those against the bridge, that could become a very large group to neutralise.’
‘Why the fuck do Tasmanians have to be so bloody combative?’ said Abbott.
‘A lot of good people have tried to answer that, Aiden,’ said Viper. Aiden. Not Minister. Viper was a minion in comparison to Abbott, never given any significant role in the federal government even though the Tasmanian people kept re-electing and re-electing him. But here, in this room, Viper wanted everyone to see that he and Abbott were equals.
‘Mr Gao?’ said Abbott to the older Chinese man. ‘What would your government wish to see put in place?’
May translated, and there was a brief exchange.
‘We have taken the liberty of preparing some materials,’ she said. ‘Premier, if you will permit …’
‘Of course,’ said JC.
The young man, Edwin, walked over to the video equipment and began navigating the various remotes and devices. The electronic blinds were lowered, the room was dimmed and, within moments, a short film began playing on the large screen. This was such an impressive display of expertise with unfamiliar technology—I hoped everyone in the room realised they’d just been one-upped.
The words A Bridge between China and Tasmania appeared on the screen. The Eternal Fragrant President appeared and spoke of the importance of this project for China and Tasmania. The film was both dubbed and subtitled.
‘Hello, people of Tasmania. I loved my visit to your beautiful island during the wonderful TasInvest Conference. My eyes were opened to the beauty and bounty of your magnificent home. I wish my country to continue this important engagement with Tasmania. I wish to extend the support of the Chinese government to ensuring the prosperity of Tasmania. This sharing of workers, for the first time, is the beginning of a program of mutual economic exchange and cultural enrichment. A small delegation of Chinese workers will help to fulfil a Tasmanian dream to join Bruny Island to mainland Tasmania. But it will also join Chinese workers and their families with Tasmanian workers and their families.’
At this point there were cutaways of Chinese families playing with their children in a park, walking along a boulevard and sharing a family meal, and then there was an extended table with both Chinese and, presumably, Tasmanian people, sharing a meal together, playing cricket in a park and looking as if they were all having a fine time.
‘If such an exchange proves helpful to both Tasmania and Australia,’ the president continued, ‘then this will pave the way for a future where many things are possible.’
The film went on to outline the Tasmanian buses that had been acquired by the Chinese government for the duration of the workers’ stay. There was footage of the buses undergoing their makeovers, and an artist’s impression of the finished product: buses emblazoned with images of the completed Bruny Bridge. There were also illustrations of banners erected all the way from the Chinese accommodation into the city, and then down the highway to the bridge site—each banner emblazoned with the Chinese flag and the Australian flag side by side.
‘And to demonstrate our commitment to the people of Tasmania,’ the president’s dubbed voiceover continued, ‘the Chinese government will stage three nights of Chinese music and theatre, providing an opportunity for Tasmanians to share in some of the most loved stories from Chinese culture. To welcome the Chinese workers, the Chinese Buddhist community will perform a dragon dance ceremony through the streets of Hobart, culminating in a fireworks display and a feast at the Peace and Reconciliation Park at Macquarie Point.’
There was footage of a dragon dance complete with a glittering dragon weaving its way through the streets and awestruck children waving both Chinese and Australian flags. Then there was a magnificent eruption of fireworks.
The film concluded with an animated logo entwining Tasmania’s tiger logo with the Chinese dragon and the words: Together with Tasmania.
JC flicked his dragon tiepin and nodded. Frank nodded too. The PR person from the government looked a little confused. Aid-n-Abet and his aide both nodded. Viper smiled. May Chen and I gazed at one another as chess opponents might.
The platter of Tasmanian biscuits was passed around. JC took one and bit into it. Abbott asked if he could take some home to his children. Everyone laughed and Viper dispatched a staff member to make that happen. Tea and coffee was served. The bearded PR boy said something to JC, who waved his hand to brush him off.
‘How are the workers being flown in?’ I asked.
‘There are direct flights from Hobart each week to China carrying fresh milk. The workers are coming in on the return flights,’ said Frank.
Aid-n-Abet said, ‘And your government has signed a deal to acquire the additional steel to repair the bridge from Shoughan International under the Belt and Road Initiative?’
‘Onto ships next week and delivered by the end of the month,’ said Viper, ‘as I understand.’
‘Excellent. Really excellent,’ JC said, dusting hundreds and thousands from his fingers onto his plate, and wiping his hands on a folded linen napkin.
Tweedle-Plumb added, ‘There’s sufficient steel currentl
y in the state, or in transit, to continue the build until it arrives.’
Everyone nodded.
‘So, if there’s nothing else,’ said JC, ‘let’s get the journos in here, Frank. Mr Gao, Miss Chen, would you join us to outline the next steps?’
‘Sir,’ said bearded PR, ‘it would be good to review the materials and ensure they align with …’
I loved his attempt but he was a wet moth going downstream.
‘Time is of the essence, wouldn’t you say?’ said Viper. ‘No harm in getting this next step into the public arena. We can deal with tomorrow tomorrow. What do you think, John?’
JC put up his hands as if in surrender and said, ‘Agreed. Let’s not overcomplicate things, or slow them down. We’re all on the same page here.’
‘That we are,’ said May Chen. ‘We have also prepared extra dossiers for the media.’
The meeting dissembled. JC walked over. ‘Told you we had it sorted,’ he said.
‘They make doing business look easy,’ I said.
‘Makes your job much easier too, all this stuff.’ He prodded the red dossiers on the table with their embossed and entwined Chinese dragon and Tasmanian tiger logos. ‘Shall we talk later today?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Come up and we’ll catch the news at home.’
‘Done.’
The last person I passed on the way out of the room was May Chen.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Chen,’ I said, holding out my hand.
‘And you, Doctor Coleman.’
‘Astrid,’ I said.
‘May,’ she said. ‘You are a conflict resolution specialist.’
‘I can see you are too,’ I said.
‘Let me give you my number,’ she offered. ‘I hope I can be of assistance throughout this time.’
She handed me her card. I promised to text her so she had my details too.
We both smiled and I left the building.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Later that day, JC and I watched the various news bulletins reporting ‘a round table between the premier, the federal minister and representatives of the Chinese government’. There were extracts of the film with the Eternal Fragrant President declaring a new global approach to labour. JC was seen saying, ‘The relationship between Tasmanian and China goes back over one hundred and fifty years. Now China is once again making a proud contribution to the economic, social and cultural wellbeing of Tasmania.’
‘It went well, yeah?’ said JC through a mouthful of corn chips and salsa. ‘Bloody terrorists have actually done some good. I don’t think there is any way it would have got finished without the bombing.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Really?’
He crunched and nodded.
‘JC, who gave you speech notes about the relationship between Tasmania and China going back over one hundred and fifty years?’
‘It was in the media folder. I … why are you looking at me like that, Ace?’
‘Because it’s not quite true.’
‘Close enough. They were here for the gold rush back in the 1880s.’
‘But not exactly government to government. Not contributing to Tasmania’s …’ I sighed. It made it sound like China had staked a claim years ago and was now coming back for more. That we owed them. This was a regular gambit. But there were bigger fish to fry. ‘Tell me why the bridge wouldn’t have been finished on time without the bomb.’
‘I was getting all sorts of reports.’
‘So what would you have done?’
JC shrugged. ‘The bomb took care of it. Whoever they were, they did me a favour.’
I scrutinised my brother. Had JC organised a bomb to get his bridge built? Would he be that ruthless? He had traded our father’s values to get elected. He had seen the writing on the wall. Labor was on the decline, so he’d done the one thing he knew would break our father’s heart. Because it suited him. Maybe he did find a way to have the bridge blown up. Means and motive, when it all came down to it. But, if he did, JC wasn’t pulling the strings. He would have been Viper’s puppet. ASIO must have been suspicious. Unless ASIO was involved. Unless it was an ASIO operation. After all, this suited the federal government far too well. That would make sense of the vessel. I knew JC was under surveillance. His calls were being listened to. That’s how I’d received such an instant instruction to come home. The Chinese would be listening too. Monitoring his emails. Did JC have any idea what he was involved in? Would ASIO and China’s MSS or 3PLA collaborate? How deep was this new alliance between China and Australia going to go?
JC went to his whisky collection and selected a tall slender bottle. ‘You’ve got to try this one,’ he said. ‘We make the best whisky in the world these days.’
He poured generous serves of amber liquid into two crystal tumblers. I recognised the tumblers as the ones I’d sent him for Christmas last year. The wonders of online shopping at Barneys. New York to Tasmania, gift-wrapped, in forty-eight hours flat.
‘You do know who supplies Shoughan International?’ JC asked.
‘Gina Rinehart?’ I replied. I should have feigned ignorance.
‘Too right. So it’s Australian iron ore in that bridge. This is the new world, Ace. You must see it everywhere, yeah? This is globalisation benefiting Tasmania.’
‘What I see is the Chinese going to inordinate lengths to make this project a success,’ I said, warming the glass and its contents in my hand. ‘You signed up to the Belt and Road. I have to ask: why, JC? Was it all part of the federal deal?’
He shrugged. ‘You don’t get this kind of investment for nothing, Ace.’
‘I think there’s a higher price somewhere, JC. Sure, the steel contract, plus what’s required for the repairs. The cost of labour. But what’s with these images of workers’ families? Since when did the Chinese care about individual workers? There are no families coming with the workers.’
‘I think it’s there to remind us that these workers have families like all of us, Ace. China’s realising it can’t keep a lid on capitalism forever. Selling their labour overseas makes sense. I mean, that’s harnessing their biggest resource. People. We’re the first step. They’re very family-minded. They plan for the long term. We could learn a lot from that.’
‘I think they’re way ahead of us,’ I said. I wanted to say ‘way ahead of you’ but it would only irritate him.
‘Look, at the end of the day, Tasmania benefits, Ace,’ said JC. ‘You saw the news coverage. It’s fantastic. It’s a win-win.’
I reflected on a conversation I’d had with Gilbert Farris the day before, this time at his home on Bruny with his wife, Barbara. ‘You’ve been back a minute,’ Farris had said. ‘We’ve been here for ten years now. I’ve watched the government do deal after deal that’s bad for Tasmanians. Most everything done here in the past hundred years has made future generations poorer. Tasmanians have voted for it, believed in the rhetoric, and called it progress. What does Tasmania have to show for all those lost forests? All the polluted waterways? The overrun national parks and lost wilderness? There are tourists swarming over every last inch of the place. And now we’re going to lose Bruny too. One of the last truly remote, beautiful, liveable places in the world.’
‘There’s something about seeing that …’ I said to JC as we both watched the animated Tasmanian tiger merge into the animated Chinese dragon, ‘which makes me uncomfortable. And it’s going to make other people uncomfortable too.’
‘Fuck, you’re starting to sound like Max,’ said JC. ‘China is our major trading partner. They’re also our ally. They’ve invested heavily here. What they’re doing with the bridge is protecting their investments. When there’s a real problem, Ace, make sure I’m the first to hear about it. Meanwhile, they’re getting our bridge built.’
‘All so you can get re-elected?’
‘Not just that, Ace. We’re part of the future. We promised we’d be that, and here we are changing the world, twin. And we’re doing it t
ogether. It’s allowed to feel good, hey?’
And he chinked his tumbler against mine.
As I let the whisky warm in my mouth and slide across the place my tonsils had once been, I asked him, ‘What do you think would bring Tasmanians together over the bridge?’
‘There is no together,’ he said. ‘You know that, Ace. This is Tasmania. People love to disagree. Keeps their lives interesting.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I was drinking coffee and reading the Saturday paper at the Dennes Point cafe when a voice said, ‘I could sit there and drink my coffee and read my paper, or I could sit here.’
I looked up. It was Dan Macmillan. He indicated the empty table next to mine, or the chair opposite me.
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Please, sit down.’
He sat and gave me a grin. He looked freshly showered and unshaved.
‘I’m not trying to disturb you,’ he said. ‘Just thought it would be weird if you looked up and saw me trying not to be noticed.’
‘Well, enjoy being there and not noticed.’
‘Perfect,’ he said.
The waitress brought his coffee and he opened his paper.
I had The Australian and he had The Mercury. I was reading a December feature on The Year That Was. This was a look back at Cyclone Pauline, which had chewed up the coastline from Byron Bay to Sydney at the end of last summer. A cyclone so far south had been unprecedented. The warming currents were blamed. The federal government’s failure to attend to climate change was blamed. The scientists who predicted it were blamed. The coal industry was blamed. The Greens were blamed. But none of the blame saved the thousands of homes, schools, resorts, businesses, yachts and three runways at Sydney airport.
For the next ten minutes, neither of us said a word. We sipped our coffees, turned pages and navigated the space at the table between us.