The cold facts of convenient truths

From Gaza to the local pub, truth is whatever you can say with a straight face — or repeat often enough, writes John Longhurst.

DRESSED IN A SINGLET, shorts and thongs, Mick held the shaking schooner with both hands to take a sip as Bazza joined him.

Bazza nodded a thank you at the offered schooner and also took a sip:

“So you are not feeling the cold, Mick? It is 13 degrees outside and you are dressed for the beach.”

Mick rubbed the goosebumps on his arms:

“Ahhh, Bazza. Just because it is 13 degrees outside does not necessarily mean it is cold. I have been reading a bit of philosophy lately and listening to the odd podcast. We need to separate facts from assumptions or judgments. We can agree on the fact is it is 13 degrees because that is what the thermometer reads. It is your judgment that equals cold. My judgment is it is a balmy day.”

The Cold War: Pub edition

When winter sets in, the only thing colder than the weather is the escalating battle of tall tales around the pub fire.

Bazza took a hefty sip and shook his head:

“But Mick, you are shaking, your teeth chattering and with goosebumps all over you, I say you are cold.”

Mick clicked his tongue and looked skywards:

“All assumptions, Bazza. My research tells me that if I just repeat something over and over again, I can create a new truth. Whilst you are dressed for midwinter, my attire suits early summer, all because I have used the power of repetition to convince myself of this new truth.”

A long pause before Mick cleared his throat and pointed to a bar stool:

Now, in your world, Bazza, you would probably call that structure a bar stool. You have made a judgment or an assumption. I am saying it may well be a bar stool, or it could be just a raised, small table. It could even be a sculpture, as in modern art, just like Andy Warhol’s painting, ‘Campbell Soup Cans’. The facts are that it is a structure made from wood. You call it a bar stool because that label has been repeated. Constant repetition has made it a bar stool.

Bazza’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed:

“It’s a bloody bar stool, Mick. People sit on it and it is in a bar.”

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When Albo goes to China, Mick reads between the lines — with a schooner in hand and absolutely no grasp of diplomacy.

The conversation was abandoned and they both looked up at the television with distressing images of children reaching out for food behind fences in Gaza.

Bazza swore under his breath:

“Shocking, unforgivable and beggars belief. How can Netanyahu claim there is ‘no starvation’ in Gaza? I think it is the first time I have agreed with Donald Trump.”

Mick tut-tutted:

“Here again, we need to go with the facts before we make judgments. The reporter and camera operator have chosen one scene. Those distressing scenes could be caused by factors other than starvation.”

Bazza shook his head in disgust, picked up the empty glasses, went to the bar and returned with one full schooner and an empty one, placing the empty schooner in front of Mick:

“There you go, Mick. The fact is, that is an empty schooner glass. I want you to assume it is full. I want you to repeat over and over again ‘it is a full schooner’. In fact, through the power of repetition, you will have a permanent full schooner, meaning I no longer have to shout. It will become a new truth. In the meantime, I am going to have a sensible conversation with Bella.”

Bazza swivelled and Mick began talking to the schooner glass.

John Longhurst is a former industrial advocate and political adviser. He currently works as an English and History teacher on the South Coast of NSW.