Watch out, we are in clover

ONE of the good things about being Australian is that we are perverse. We have a talent for reacting unpredictably, like a spouse or a tiger snake.

So in John Howard we responded to a man with the gen-Y coolness of a sock by repeatedly electing him. Offered a republic, we opted for a distant monarchy. We persist in admiring obnoxious athletes.

But sometimes our perversity blossoms into an entire national psychological state. Just now, Australia could be the site for an intergalactic conference of headshrinkers. We foresee unspecified disaster.

Which would be comprehensible if our dollar were like the euro and Melbourne resembled Athens. But these things are not true. Admittedly, we have problems: Sydney is going slower than Perth, taxes climb like rats, our children remain obnoxious. But on an international scale, we are the bloke with the sprained finger in the casualty room.

Yet our pessimism is palpable. Consumer spending is depressed. Business confidence is manically depressed. Many of us have been forced to the last refuge of an Australian: saving. If the mood gets any uglier, we may stop drinking.

So what has turned a nation of insane optimists to the equivalent of a dour Yorkshireman on a wet afternoon?

We seem to believe the national dream is in peril. Contrary to popular opinion, that dream is deeper and nobler than simply owning your own house.

It amounted to a conviction that our children would have better lives than we did. As the Californian mantra had it, every day in every way, we were getting better and better.

And it was true. From a colony of starving convicts, we federated into one of the world's most prosperous nations. We suffered a depression and two world wars, but in the 70 years since the vast majority of Australians have seen their children and grandchildren lead lives of unimaginable quality.

Sons of penniless immigrant labourers became teachers. Their daughters became doctors. Their children aspire to barrack for Carlton. It's the way things go. Yet suddenly we are not sure. So why? The international experience has much to answer for. It is not easy to watch France sliding into the Mediterranean and Washington drowning in debt, yet keep your mind on doing a steady Australian crawl. Yet with our traditional delight in the misfortunes of uppity foreigners, you'd think we'd be more elated than depressed.

Instead, the troubles of others have provoked a deep uncertainty. If Paris falls, will Canberra subside?

But is there also some internal factor pushing us from "up yours" larrikinism to reflective melancholia? Perhaps we see in the troubles of Europe and the US one crucial factor that we sense in our own body politic. The failure of government.

Not the Gillard government, the Howard government or any future Abbott government, but the incapacity of governments anywhere that we always trusted to keep the economic wolf from the door. It's like seeing Daddy beaten by the school bully.

Of course Wayne Swan could - and does - say we are doing fine. Things are not perfect, but we are afloat. Why should he be reviled for the sins of Nicolas Sarkozy? But there's the rub. Politicians do and politicians say. In our crazy media cycle, words speak louder than actions.

And what have our politicians been saying while the world economy clutches its heart like a corpulent punter when the favourite breaks its leg in the barrier? True, there are the occasional attempts at economic insight and policy analysis. But we all know the real issues of the day: that Tony Abbott was a teenage misogynist; Julia Gillard is a fibber; Julie Bishop has an unnerving stare; Craig Thomson is a sleaze; and Peter Slipper needs to get a hobby.

Do our politicians ever wonder if there is a connection between Australians' lack of confidence in a frightening world and the fact their leaders talk drivel while Rome burns? I do.

Greg Craven is vice-chancellor of the Australian Catholic University.