The central facts of modern industrial technology are the displacement of men by machines, and the division of labour. Man as producer is fragmented and denied. The Australian labour force draws nearer the American model. Unskilled labouring and process work is vanishing. Technologists and social servicemen increase. Man returns to his pastoral beginning – except that, instead of shepherding unthinking animals he shepherds machines which calculate. Increasingly, no man can know or control the process of production; only the machines can do that. The area of choice and effective decision declines. Man is liberated from nature and enslaved by machines.
We forget that the nineteenth century often turned work into sport. We, in contrast, often turn sport into work.
Love what you do, work hard, bend when you have to, but never sell out.
Show me a busy person and I’ll show you a person doing someone else’s job!
We have come 16,000 miles to better our condition, and not to act the mere part of machinery; and it is neither right nor just that we should cross the trackless regions of immensity between us and our fatherland, to be rewarded with excessive toil, a bare existence and a premature grave.
Internationally Australia is ceasing to be intellectually competitive; internally we are losing the essential preconditions for personal competence, social cohesion, employment prospects and the free flow of comprehensible information which makes democracy workable.
In the area of understanding, thinking and responding as a nation we appear to be mildly retarded.
Academic economists have about the status and reliability of astrologers or the readers of Tarot cards. If the medical profession was as lacking in resources as the economists we would not have advanced very far beyond the provision of splints for broken arms.
Somewhere between the job,
the television trance,
the few at five, the circumstance,
digressed a deeper bloke
who suffered life like some bad joke
and came to recognise his dreams
for what they were: abstract extremes
Against the wind his head was bent.
I guess you’d say: bad management.
… the dullness, the conformity, the lack of excitement or challenge, the stupefying weekly routine which revolves around the daily peak-hour journey to and from work, the nightly telly, Saturday evening at the RSL club, Sunday morning washing the car, maybe a drive over to see Harry and Freda with the kids, and then it's time to get ready for work again.