Abstract
ON RED EARTH WALKING: The Pilbara Aboriginal Strike, Western Australia 1946–1949 Anne Scrimgeour; Monash University Publishing, 2020; 528 pages, $39.95 (paperback)
At the heart of On Red Earth Walking is a significant Australian story about the ‘First Aboriginal Workers Strike’ when Aboriginal men, women and their children walked away from camp life on Pilbara sheep stations, particularly Strelley, in Western Australia’s north. Taking their power as workers with them, in an effort to improve their economic and social conditions, the Strike began in 1946 and lasted three years.
Distilling the complexity, and often the brutality, of Indigenous and non-Indigenous relationships in WA’s Pilbara, Anne Scrimgeour’s historical research, analysis and writing provides readers with an intellectual and visual lens into mid-20th century Aboriginal Australia, alongside a broader understanding of station life and industrial relations in a ‘remote’ location.
It is not the first time what’s colloquially known as the ‘1946 Strike’ or the ‘Pilbara Strike’ in WA has been written about. Donald Stuart’s 1959 novel, Yandy, and Minyjun Monty Hale’s 2012 account in Kurlumarniny: We come from the Desert (edited by Scrimgeour), provide insights that often resonate with On Red Earth Walking. What distinguishes Scrimgeour’s 2020 book is the minutiae with which she interpolates newly researched historical material from extensive archival investigation, including union records, newspapers, films, academic theses and rich oral history recordings with senior Aboriginal people’s remembrances of the Strike. Most of these were recorded in the early 1990s.
At 500+ pages, and more than 3000 Endnotes, Scrimgeour exhibits superb strengths at synthesising contextual and historical data to ensure readers are aware of what else was going on in the 1940s–50s. Her discussion includes the backdrop of World War 2, beginnings of the Cold War, fears about Communism, fallout from the Russian Petrov Affair, increasing power of the national and federal unions (especially the Seamen’s Union), the establishment of ASIO (Australian Security Intelligence Organisation), government/industry tensions in ‘native welfare’, and defeat in 1947 of the WA Labor Government.
Colonial and historical impacts are, as they should be, analytically stressed. Scrimgeour cogently states that one of the disconcerting responses to the Strike was many believed that ‘cracks [began] to appear in the wall of settler control’. (p 270) Others revealed that the Strike opened up a ‘fear of violence from Strike leaders’. (p 198)
The eloquent use of quotes from Aboriginal people (generally referred to throughout and locally as marrngu, but inclusive of local groups especially the Nyangumarta, Mangala and others who had migrated in from Western Desert locations) as chapter headings draws readers in. These include not only quotes from Aboriginal people but also from unionists, government officials, newspaper editorials (ranging from Melbourne’s Argus, to Geraldton’s Cathedral Chronicle, and the national Communist Review), pastoralists and religious commentators: ‘They were the Boss for Us’, ‘The Natives are Now Taking the Attitude They Can Camp Anywhere They Like’, ‘God Help the Blackfellow’, and ‘McLeod’s Insidious Anti-Fascist Communistic Activities’ are evocative among these. The latter reference to ‘McLeod’ is to a non-Aboriginal pastoral worker and industrial advocate, Don McLeod. His name, like so many others (for instance but not exhaustively including Clancy McKenna, Peter Coppin, Dooley Binbin, Dorothy Hewett, Snowy Jittermarra, Stanley Middleton and John Gribble) appears listed by Scrimgeour as one of the book’s ‘Characters’ (pp 483–6), and is synonymous with the Strike.
Like others who have written about the subject, Scrimgeour describes McLeod’s extenuating influence and his consistent advocacy on behalf of the strikers, but she appears less cautious to show how widespread and generalised that influence was among all marrngu. One reason is to emphasise Indigenous agency and qualitative difference within all the parties. Evident is that not all the marrngu agreed among themselves with McLeod, during that time or later, and how the Strike progressed. Timelines and responses to negotiations and proposals put by government and industry to the striking families, are among these concerns.
While commending On Red Earth Walking for its depth, breadth and scoping of such an important moment in time, I was surprised when reading Scrimgeour’s ‘Acknowledgements’ (p v) to find that while ‘marrngu women and men’ were thanked ‘first and foremost …’, such a gloss overlooks the importance of specifically naming Aboriginal people and/or their families. While there can be, and often is, a restriction on naming a deceased Aboriginal person, there are also cultural practices that accommodate such a requirement. The use of the widespread first-name-replacement in the Pilbara and elsewhere of Kumanjayi, is just one of these. What is most perplexing is that many non-Aboriginal people are named. As well-earned and as important as their contributions might have been, there is no doubt that On Red Earth Walking will always remain a story about the experiences of Pilbara-based Aboriginal men and women in the 1940s, most of whom sought better pay and conditions in an industry economically reliant on their labour, as well as their courage and goodwill. Scrimgeour’s account pays due homage to that story. She concludes that by the end of 1949: the victors of the Strike were the marrngu … although the right to bargain collectively was still denied them, they had, through strike action, earned the right to negotiate as individuals the conditions under which they would accept work. (p 455)
TREATY George Williams and Harry Hobbs; The Federation Press, 2nd ed, 2020; 384 pages; $59.95 (paperback)
Treaty, first published in 2005 and co-authored by Sean Brennan, Larissa Behrendt, Lisa Strelein and George Williams, has been completely revised in this second edition by George Williams, this time with Harry Hobbs as his co-author. Much has happened since 2005, including the adoption of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People internationally, and the Uluru Statement from the Heart, so a second edition is well overdue. And it does not disappoint.
Williams would be familiar to many people as the former Dean of Law (and now Deputy Vice-Chancellor) at the University of NSW. Hobbs might not be as well-known but has fast been making his name in the field of Indigenous rights. Both authors are at the forefront of the issues involved, and their expertise here is evident.
There are 10 chapters in total, covering just about everything you might want to know (and maybe even things you didn’t realise you needed to know).
The book commences with a chapter on ‘What is Treaty?’; important, because treaty means different things to different people. This is followed by a short history of treaty in Australia, including Batman’s infamous purported treaty with the Kulin nations. Questions on whether treaty would help alleviate Indigenous disadvantage are explored in chapter three, with chapter four outlining the legal framework governing the relationship between Indigenous peoples and the Australian State.
Williams and Hobbs do not shy away from tackling the big issues, with chapter five devoted to the vexed issue of sovereignty. They then venture overseas in chapter six to Australia’s colonial cousins, namely the US, Canada and New Zealand, to see if Australia can draw any lessons from what has (or has not, as the case may be) been accomplished through their treaties. And no book of this nature would be complete without a chapter devoted to native title, the subject of chapter seven. Indeed, it was the native title framework from which the Noongar Settlement in south west Western Australia (arguably a treaty in all but name) emerged.
This is followed by a chapter on the treaty processes at the state and territory level, focusing on those that have commenced in Victoria, Queensland and the Northern Territory. This chapter also outlines the aforementioned Noongar Settlement, and why it should be seen as Australia’s first true treaty. The next chapter then looks at treaty from the national perspective.
The final chapter, after responding to various objections to treaty, then goes on to outline the way forward, providing, as the authors put it, ‘seven strategies for achieving a successful treaty process nationwide.’
Importantly, Treaty also deals with the Uluru Statement from the Heart, of which Treaty was one of the three guiding principles (Voice, Treaty, Truth).
Treaty is written in a style that is accessible, engaging and informative, without being overly academic. It will therefore appeal to a wide audience, which is important if treaty in Australia is to become a reality.
Williams and Hobbs draw from the writings and speeches of numerous eminent Indigenous Australians, identifying (where possible) their individual clan group name. This identification is a valuable reminder of the diversity of Indigenous voices and nations across Australia.
With forewords from the former Victorian Treaty Commissioner, Jill Gallagher AO, and the Northern Territory’s current Treaty Commissioner, Michael Dodson AM lending it additional authority, Treaty should be required reading for anyone who wants to see Australia move towards a more respectful and equal relationship with its First Nations peoples.
Treaty ultimately leaves the reader with an understanding that treaty making, although a difficult and complicated process, is both worthwhile and achievable. But this can only happen if debate is considered and well informed. Treaty will no doubt make a significant and meaningful contribution to that debate.
STANDING WITH STANDING ROCK: Voices from the #NoDAPL Movement Nick Estes and Jaskiran Dhillon (eds); University of Minnesota Press, 2019; 496 pages; USD 24.95 (paperback)
OUR HISTORY IS THE FUTURE Nick Estes; Verso, 2019; 310 pages; £13.59 (hardback)
Nick Estes’ award-winning Our History is the Future contextualises the Oceti Sakowin resistance to the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) in a history of Dakota-, Nakota-, and Lakota-speaking peoples’ resistance to settler-colonialism. Nick Estes and Jaskiran Dhillon’s edited volume Standing with Standing Rock is a collection of voices from and about the #NoDAPL movement, which orients that resistance within broader networks of global decolonial movements. Although different texts, with different aims, each archives and attempts to inspire Indigenous resurgence in the struggles against the settler-state through anti-capitalist, anti-imperialist and critical Indigenous approaches.
In my view, both are necessary readings for those interested in the history of settler-colonialism as well as on-going resistance movements. I also recommend reading them together. That is because #NoDAPL occurred in one place. It was one set of events. And as these texts reveal, those events contain a polyphony of voices, histories and modes of opposition that cross borders and undermine the linear and progressivists’ narrative and historiography of United States’ (and other settler states’) imperialism. Furthermore, how these texts communicate that message is important.
Estes’ (Lower Brule Sioux Tribe) Our History is the Future is a sole-authored monograph. That is notable because sole-authored monographs typically reproduce one particular form – where the author is external to the events, and which ostensibly provides that author with an objective vantage point to provide an accounting of their subject-matter. When authors demonstrate mastery and domination over their subject, possessory acts from which the author benefits, the authorial form is colonial. Our History is the Future provides reason enough for believing that form is open to anti-colonial appropriation. Estes does not position himself as an outsider or claim a possessory interest in objective knowledge. Instead, he provides a rich oral history of the Oceti Sakowin’s engagement with, and strategic resistance to, the US empire and which is presented as a history of genocidal and imperial policies to oppose a history of US exceptionalism and nationalist mythmaking.
Estes’ main argument is that the DAPL is the most recent invasion of Oceti Sakowin homeland. Through a prologue and seven chapters, Estes tells a story about the history of colonial invasion, how invasion adopts new forms at different times, and the way it transforms and affects those who resist. Chapter 1 introduces #NoDAPL which, along with the prologue, is a good synopsis to the movement. Chapter 2 tells of the emergence of ‘Oceti Sakowin Oyate’ (the Nation of the Seven Council Fires) in the 18th century, in response to the westward expansion of the US. It is not just a historical telling of events. It is an engaging story of how colonial invasion transformed gender relations, as well as relations to animals and land through fur trading, violence, treaties and epidemics. Chapter 3 tells of the Oceti Sakowin defence against US military invasion and counterinsurgency, leading to the confinement of First Nations peoples on reservations. With the solidification of the reservation system, the US then began massive land development projects, which perpetuated as it transformed the method of dispossession. Hence, chapter 4 tells of the Pick-Sloan Plan and the damming of the Missouri river, while chapter 5 speaks of the mid-1970s American Indian Movement occupations of Wounded Knee and Standing Rock. Those movements led to the founding of the International Indian Treaty Council, which contributed to Indigenous internationalism. Chapter 6 picks up on Indigenous internationalism and discusses how it led to the 2007 UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. The final chapter reflects on how the #NoDAPL movement continues anti-imperial and anti-capitalist acts, which have become and have influenced a global solidarity movement. Although describing the text in this way appears a linear narrative, a close reading of the text shows that Estes combines historical methods – past with present, object with subject. It is superbly crafted storytelling that reflects multiple perspectives through the appearance of a single narrative. Importantly, it centres and gives credit to the leadership of women, Two-Spirit and LGBTIQA+ peoples in rekindling the fires of opposition to empire.
Like Our History is the Future, Estes’ and Dhillon’s Standing with Standing Rock presents a message of communal resistance to capitalist accumulation and colonial reproduction. But this text is an edited volume, which presents multiple voices, sources and perspectives. Estes’ and Dhillon’s ‘curatorial approach’ is ‘explicitly informed’ by ‘decolonial politics’ as well as ‘underpinned by a desire to showcase multiple lines of sight, stories emerging from a range of entry points, and a plurality of perspectives on the resistance effort’. (p 6) Despite these multiple vantage points, the shared purpose is to resurrect ‘colonial history not simply as lessons learned but as essential guideposts into current and future radical political organizing and popular, political education efforts’. (p 6)
The volume is organised into six thematic parts. Each contains contributions, some by well-known (Indigenous) academics, others by artists, poets, authors, designers, collectives and organisers. Some pieces are poems (p 19), pictures (pp 91, 212, 305), and some sparkling new essays, like Kevin Bruyneel’s ‘Wake Work Versus Work of Settler Memory: Modes of Solidarity in #NoDAPL, Black Lives Matter and Anti-Trumpism’ or Edward Valandra’s ‘Mni Wiconi: Water is [More Than] Life’. Other contributions are interviews, transcripts of TedX talks, snippets from journals or expanded commentaries from popular media sources. Each piece cuts across disciplinary confines.
Importantly, each thematic part links to the others, creating a cohesive set of ‘guideposts’. The volume starts with the appropriate theme of leadership in ‘Leading the Resistance’. The second reflects on where this leadership comes from in ‘Living Histories’. Given my interests, I found the third section most interesting – perhaps because it is the most fraught. It focuses on who has the authority and right to build or not, and how that authority has been contested. It is entitled ‘Legal and Sociopolitical Landscapes and State Violence’. The midway point of the volume arrives in this section and is particularly noteworthy. It is Elizabeth Ellis’ article ‘Centering Sovereignty: How Standing Rock Changed the Conversation’. As I read it, the location and content of that article (re)centres Indigenous and First Nation sovereignty among the multiple, contested levels of legality. Moving beyond legality, the fourth thematic part is ‘Environmental Colonization’. After exploring the gender, environmental, financial and justice issues through three chapters, the fifth focuses on how to address issues in ‘Education and Critical Pedagogies’. That paves the way to the last theme, ‘Indigenous Organizing and Solidarity in Movement Building’.
Our History is the Future and Standing with Standing Rock are fantastic resources that renew the spirit of anti-imperialist radical political practice. Where Our History is the Future is a sole-authored text that coherently and engagingly combines multitudes, histories and temporalities, Standing with Standing Rock presents multiple vantage points and a plurality of perspectives to voice a common theme and a hopeful message. Both books attempt to cut across the discourses, disciplines and borders of Western imperialism, and encourage the reader to join in the reinvention of different types of relationality.
LIVING WITH THE ANTHROPOCENE: Love, loss and hope in the face of environmental crisis Cameron Muir, Kirsten Wehner and Jenny Newell (eds); NewSouth Books, 2020; 384 pages; $34.99 (paperback)
Does anybody own the Anthropocene? In his 2017 book Defiant Earth, Clive Hamilton sought to focus discussions on Earth systems science. For Hamilton, the Anthropocene is a ‘recent rupture in Earth History arising from the impact of human activity on the Earth System as a whole’. (p 9) According to this reading, the Anthropocene encompasses and is broader than the ecological sciences. It is not a metaphor or a literary device. In fact, Hamilton chastises legal scholar Jedediah Purdy for producing a ‘“death of nature” tome that seems to have been written without reading any scientific papers on the topic at all’. (p 20)
I have sympathy with this part of Hamilton’s argument. However, it appears to ignore an obvious reality – the horse has bolted. The term Anthropocene cannot be so contained, and it belongs to an ever-broadening interpretative community that includes artists, science fiction writers and even legal scholars. Turning to this broader social imaginary, we find that the Anthropocene is used as a place holder to describe the experience of environmental change and/or the acceleration of crises that we have witnessed since the 1970s. It is precisely in this sense that the majority of contributors to Living with the Anthropocene are writing. This is foregrounded in the editors’ introduction: ‘the Anthropocene is not primarily about scientific definitions or an era of techno-geographical time but rather about cultural problems’. (p 6)
Having described the Anthropocene as a cultural problem, the editors seek to ‘understand and transform’ the ‘circumstances, trajectories and possibilities’ of everyday life through the medium of stories or narratives (pp 6–7). As a materialist, I am sceptical that stories are the right tool for this task and the editors are unable to build a convincing case for the instrumental purpose of this book. Sophie Cunningham picks up on this point as she writes: ‘I can tell stories. I can bear witness. But I have to be honest. Some days bearing witness does not seem like enough’. (p 299)
After reading their introduction, what I really want to ask the editors is about the possibilities for chronicling the present devastation without falling back on idealism and romanticism? Moreover, why do they insist that the book has a positive political project? Is it not sufficient to capture stories of loss, hope and critical engagement because they communicate something real and human? And what about the potential for stories to help readers identify with another and not feel so alone? After a year of lockdowns and isolation, that is no small thing.
The contributors to this book include some of the most important writers in Australia today. While underrepresented I was particularly struck by the contribution of First Nations writers. Ellen van Neerven, a Mununjali Yugambeh writer, adds to the growing critical literature on the Anthropocene and reminds us that loss, change and grief have been part of the everyday life for Aboriginal people. Among these topics is her penetrating question: ‘How can we heal and recover from the past while at the same time preparing for a dangerous future’? (p 240) Moreover, in his exploration of death and grief, Tony Birch finds the resources for collective action. In his words: ‘I believe in the crowd, that I gain energy from the action of others … I must be in the world in order to respect it’. (p 28)
Thus, while there is intrinsic value in bearing witness to loss, as human animals we are also called to join with others and fight for what is left. Stories alone are insufficient, but they might provide the foundations or impetus for resistance. To return to Cunningham: ‘Do SOMETHING. Have realistic goals. Then make the best of it’. (p 297)
UPTURN: A better normal after COVID-19 Tanya Plibersek (ed); NewSouth Books, 2020; 240 pages; $32.99 (paperback)
In this collection of essays, editor Tanya Plibersek, who also contributes an essay on education, brings us policy suggestions, principles (Chan on agriculture), and practical ideas about how ‘a better normal’ could, with imagination, determination and planning, be the lasting outcome of the COVID-19 pandemic. For Plibersek, the community must be ‘ready to fight’ for better outcomes (Arundhati Roy) and the collection is a call to action.
Some themes are repeated throughout the text: change has been rapid (Linda Burney); trust is stretched thin (Lenore Taylor on media and trust); and our allegiances and alliances have been tested (Gareth Evans on foreign policy).
Naturally there are arguments about the need to improve funding mechanisms for science and research (Lewin) but there are other community focused contributions too.
Huntley has found, and wants to continue to savour, a kinder community when walking her dog. June Oscar, senior Bunuba woman from the Kimberley rejects the ‘deficit model’ and argues that Aboriginal people have emerged with a ‘renewed sense of control’ which links to the Uluru Statement and the ‘vibrancy and potential of our homelands’. Soutphommasane argues that ‘multiculturalism [has been] a strength’. Young graduate Eli Scott wants innovation to be ‘more than a slogan’ and for us to ‘be bold enough to move away from the easy, short-term options that we are running out of’. Lachlan Beel, another young contributor, whose apprenticeship was lost due to COVID-19, wants an assurance that if you work hard you get what you deserve – not the dole queue.
There have been winners and losers. COVID-19 has ‘hit women harder’ (Cooper and Mosseri; O’Rourke) even as those engaged in remote work have felt less ‘rushed’ and fathers have been able to reimagine their roles (Crabb).
Beyond considerations about individuals and community, the reader will find discussion about new ways of doing things, to which we simply have to adjust. For instance, digital technology is now the ‘future of work’ (Petre).
Apart from the ‘new’, the collection renews discussion about some older reform initiatives. If our creative industry is what ‘makes us’, it is argued we should reform the Australia Council and our copyright laws to ‘re-energise’ the arts (Blanchett and Williams). As housing insecurity for the homeless, renters, and those with mortgages, has yet again been foregrounded Pisarski argues there has never been a better time to invest in social housing.
As you would expect, a range of commentaries focus on economics. Charlton argues our ‘economic vitality was waning’ before COVID-19 and entrepreneurialism will be central to recovery. Peter Garrett argues business as usual is no longer a possibility and climate change policies must go hand in hand with recovery. Ross Garnaut elaborates on new industrial strengths which are not just environmentally clever but also ‘efficient’. Combet makes telling observations about the superannuation industry and the need for discipline and unity. Clyne describes the banks of the future and the ‘cashless’ society. As with telehealth, choice has been eliminated. Chalmers and Ridout express concern about growth. Unemployment is going to be a challenge; digital technology has made our skills base ‘redundant’ but it can be made to ‘work for people’ (Chalmers); green energy is the source of sustainable growth (Ridout); and purposeful infrastructure spend is critical. Swan talks progressive taxation. Koukoulas worries about the superannuation gender pay gap.
Notwithstanding this focus, equity, values and a ‘wider dialogue’ (Sally McManus) are seen as central to recovery and an ‘Employment and Emissions Accord’; a ‘fair go’ will be essential while ‘precarious employment and income’ has to be resisted (Jenny Macklin).
Plibersek has brought together a collection to cover the field, but this is not a mechanical ‘how to’ text. What binds the collection together is a recognition of the ‘interdependence of every part of the knowledge ecosystem’ (Chubb). Professor Paul Torzillo’s essay from the perspective of the NGO Healthabitat and the ICU and respiratory care unit at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital in Sydney, illustrates the point. While we might have expected him to expressly consider the rise of telemedicine and the need to care for health workers (which he does), he begins his essay discussing leadership and concludes with a call for better climate change policy (see also Simson).
Those who publish their ideas in this collection see possibilities which are not the same old ‘opportunities’.
The take home message is that there will be no ‘business as usual’ once the COVID-19 dust settles.
THE LAW OF POLITICS: Elections, parties and money in Australia Graeme Orr; The Federation Press, 2nd ed, 2019; 320 pages; $89.95 (paperback)
The Law of Politics by Professor Graeme Orr is the second edition of an elegant book that blends the work of a traditional monograph (ie, advancing an original argument) with that of a textbook (ie, organising established knowledge and drawing attention to live debates). Its central thesis is that there is a distinct field of study -- the law of politics -- that has not been recognised as such in Australia. The book thus addresses ?the lack of any sustained, let alone comprehensive, treatment of the legal principles, rules, judicial precedents and administrative machinery that govern our electoral democracy?. (p 2) Though often viewed as part of constitutional law, ?the area is not particularly constitutionalised in this country?. (p 2) Its content mostly comes from other sources, only some of which are strictly legal (ie, statutes and judge-made law). A recurring theme in the book is the critical role of culture, norms and rituals in shaping how Australia regulates its political life.
One especially important norm is this country?s high regard for independence and bureaucracy. This goes beyond the balancing of partisan and identity groups that characterises ?independence? in the United States. The Australian norm gives a prominent place to electoral commissions, and particularly the Australian Electoral Commission (AEC). The electoral commissions are not entrenched in the Constitution, as has been the trend in many modern constitutions. And the AEC itself, established in 1984, is quite a young institution. Yet, as Orr documents, bureaucratic regulation of elections has a long history in this country, and it remains a popular and largely unchallenged norm. The small official units that ran elections prior to the 1980s lacked the heft of the modern AEC but were probably no less independent. The independence norm accounts for the structure of the modern electoral commissions: they are chaired by judges; operate with strong conventions against any party-political involvement by commission staff; and discretion is limited to the extent possible by detailed legislation and guidelines.
The Australian version of the independence norm has not translated into a prominent role for the courts, however. Pressure for them to become more involved in electoral matters has grown over time but the judicial instinct to avoid anything that looks, sounds or feels ?political? remains strong, and has resulted in some controversies falling between the cracks. For instance, Orr explains the urgent need for reform of the harsh disqualification rules for parliament, arguing that the necessary change will probably need to be led by the courts. The constitutional rule will be difficult to amend, parliaments do not want to commit energy to this issue, and electoral commissions are constrained by law but also practicalities -- ?they cannot, in the heat of the nomination period, be expected to vet nominations for disqualifications?. (p 111) Unfortunately the High Court, as the forum where the problem is likely to be resolved, has reasoned inconsistently on the disqualification cases it has heard.
Like the disqualification debate, the terrain that the book covers has been shaped by the interactions between law, culture and norms, and political forces. The law of politics thus includes rules about the mapping of electoral districts; ballot access and voting rights; political broadcasting including timely questions about truth in political advertising; the financing of elections and parties; and direct democracy. Orr?s cataloguing of these topics is thorough and balanced, but also accessible to those without a technical background in law. The new edition includes a discussion of local government, which, despite its practical importance, has received relatively little attention in political regulation debates. This new edition also includes an updated bibliography of studies of political regulation in Australia, which will be a handy resource. In short, Professor Orr has written an excellent book that will be useful to scholars and students whose interests lie at the intersection of law, politics and culture.