Since 2000, the government has gradually shifted its rhetoric in Indigenous affairs to focus on a more radical agenda. During the life of the Howard government, the analogy of war has been used routinely to describe complex social issues (Hunter 2006). First, there were the ‘history wars’, as Henry Reynolds, Keith Windschuttle and others fought over the technical detail and interpretation of Australia’s colonial history. This is arguably one manifestation of the ‘culture wars’. Then came the ‘war on terror’, following the events of 11 September 2001. Another alleged battleground is the ‘poverty war’. Given the involvement of the military and the strident language of the protagonists, it is not too much of a stretch to characterise the intervention in the NT as a ‘war on Indigenous child abuse’.

While the analogy of war provides good ‘copy’ for the media, and hence has utility for politicians, it is a singularly inappropriate term for constructing a positive and informed debate about complex social issues. If Indigenous child abuse and community dysfunction are wicked problems, then the oversimplification of the issues diminishes our capacity to construct effective policy options.

If one is serious about Indigenous policy, one needs to attempt to build a long-term consensus rather than construct a heroic-style conflict between competing policies — where one policy is invariably portrayed as a failure and the other as the solution.

Sanders (2007) demonstrates how the language of failure has become increasingly used to describe Indigenous affairs since 2004. The Howard government has used the idea of past policy failure to introduce major new organisational arrangements in Indigenous affairs: the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC) was abolished and its programs were re-assigned to ‘mainstream’ Commonwealth departments.

Is it possible that the claims that anyone who criticises the earnest attempt to address child abuse is a ‘nay-sayer’ or, worse, supports child abuse by default, have left people morally conflicted and afraid to contribute to the public debate? The over-simplification of the issues has led to an extremity of language and arguments that militates against a reasoned analysis of evaluation of the policy options.

Helen Hughes’ recent book, Lands of Shame, makes a direct appeal to the shame that Australians should feel. Shame may not be an entirely inappropriate response to the situation, but potentially it is a debilitating response that can circumscribe public debate.

Hughes’ polemical version of history asserts that ‘homelands’ (which, note, are never defined in the book) are the product of a socialist ‘homeland’ model conceived by economist Nugget Coombs. She places the main blame for ongoing disadvantage in Indigenous ‘homelands’ squarely on the shoulders of ‘exceptionalist’ self-determination policies that were implemented in such areas. This is an inadequate account of history which ignores the fact that Indigenous socioeconomic outcomes were coming from an exceptionally low base in the 1970s. Furthermore, Indigenous disadvantage was (and is) prominent in both remote and non-remote areas. Many of the policy reforms proposed by Hughes resemble the measures incorporated in the federal government’s recent ‘national emergency’ response to child sex abuse (Altman 2007a).

My main criticism of Hughes’ analysis is that she has created the space in public debate where the use of hyperbole is acceptable and, indeed, endorsed. I maintain that her earlier use of the word ‘apartheid’ in describing the permit and land-rights system is inappropriate and categorically wrong (Hughes 2005; Hunter 2007a). If nothing else, the debate over the NT intervention seems to indicate that the vast majority of community residents support the right to control who enters their communal property. When respected academics engage in emotional debates using rhetorical devices, then this sets a public standard whereby exaggeration and categorical errors become legitimated. The Australian has published many articles that repeat and expand on the invalid analogy of the ‘Australian Apartheid’.

Curiously, the former Minister for Indigenous Affairs, Amanda Vanstone, in a 2005 speech entitled ‘Beyond Conspicuous Compassion’ (Vanstone 2005), had this to say:

While Vanstone railed against ‘conspicuous compassion’, it is hard to characterise the PM and Brough’s rhetoric as anything other than that. Indeed, Brough stated recently that one ‘wouldn’t have a soul if one did not support the blow-out in spending on the intervention’.

Ironically, it appears that some politicians (not to mention various academics and media outlets) are now competing with one another to be morally righteous and conspicuously compassionate about Indigenous child abuse. Obviously, the public are forced to tolerate the use of rhetorical devices by parliamentarians because politics is a ‘blood sport’, where winning the argument is more important than the substance of the issues involved. However, if the construction of effective policy is the goal, debate must include an array of less moralistic perspectives.

The only way ahead is to acknowledge the complexities of the task at hand and attempt to identify, analyse and address the most relevant issues. All involved need to be open to the possibility that their ideas are wrong, and to submit those ideas for rigorous evaluation and criticism.