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 VII

Tables
Table 1.1 Definitions of policy and social policy 8
Table 2.1 Concepts, welfare and design principles 26
Table 2.2 Examples of different forms of welfare in Australia 37
Table 3.1 The scope of policy practice 42
Table 3.2 A simplified framework 54
Table 3.3 Different understandings of the problems of income support and
unemployment 55
Table 3.4 Examples of three different consultation processes 62
Table 3.5 Common implementation problems 68
Table 4.1 Australian independent think tanks involved in social policy 87
Table 4.2 Paradigms in public sector governance 95
Table 6.1 Indicators of economic and social difference across selected OECD
countries in the mid-2000s 129
Table 8.1 Newly arrived resident waiting periods 179
Table 8.2 Income support by immigrant category 179
Table 9.1 Employed people by industry (quarterly, trend), February 2019 210
Table 10.1 Summary of key milestones and changes in Australia’s social
security (and related) policies from early 1990s to present 215
Table 12.1 Key elements of the Australian health care system 266
Table 12.2 Health sector interest groups 272
Table 13.1 School funding and enrolment shares 293
Table 16.1 Individual marginal tax rate structure for residents of Australia 355
Table 16.2 Glossary of taxation terms 356
Table 16.3 Commonwealth, state and local government taxes, 2017–18 360

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VIII

Figures
Figure 9.1 Unemployment rate in Australia, 1980–2019 197
Figure 9.2 Broad measures of unemployment in Australia, February 2019 199
Figure 9.3 Unemployment and underemployment 200
Figure 9.4 Underemployed by age bracket 201
Figure 9.5 Structure of the labour force 202
Figure 10.1 Number of participants with penalties by proportion of payments
lost before and after the CDP commenced 223
Figure 11.1 Tenure of low-income households (000s) 241
Figure 11.2 Lower-income households: housing costs as a proportion of gross
income, 2017–18 242
Figure 11.3 All households: housing costs as a proportion of gross income for
tenure groups by income quintiles 242
Figure 11.4 Melbourne house price distance gradients, 1994–2019 244
Figure 11.5 Tenure of occupied private dwellings (per cent), 1994–95
to 2017–18 247
Figure 12.1 Grattan Institute influence model 280
Figure 13.1 The compounding effects of concentration of disadvantage 291
Figure 13.2 Australian students’ achievement trends in the Programme for
International Student Assessment, 2000–18 299
Figure 16.1 Taxation as a proportion of GDP 351
Figure 16.2 Commonwealth government expenditure ($ billion), 2017–18 352
Figure 16.3 Comparative tax level (% of GDP), 2017 354
Figure 16.4 Commonwealth revenue ($ billion), 2017–18 361
Figure 16.5 Unequal benefit from the retirement tax system and the
Age Pension, 2019 364
Figure 16.6 EMTR chart: Newstart (single), 2018 367
Figure 16.7 EMTR chart: second earner goes to work one to five days
per week, 2018 368

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 IX

Abbreviations
ABS Australian Bureau of Statistics
ACARA Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Regulatory Authority
ACCI Australian Confederation of Commerce and Industry
ACECQA Australian Children’s Education and Care Quality Authority
ACNC Australian Charities and Not-for-profits Commission
ACOSS Australian Council of Social Service
ACTU Australian Council of Trade Unions
AHURI Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute
AIHW Australian Institute of Health and Welfare
ALP Australian Labor Party
ANMF Australian Nursing and Midwifery Federation
ANTS A New Tax System
AoS Assurance of Support
ATO Australian Taxation Office
CDEP Community Development Employment Program
CES Commonwealth Employment Service
CGT capital gains tax
CLT community land trust model
COAG Council of Australian Governments
COSS council of social service
CPI consumer price index
CRA Commonwealth Rent Assistance
CWO community welfare organisation
DPC Department of Premier and Cabinet
DSP Disability Support Pension
DSS Department of Social Security
ECEC early childhood education and care
EMTR effective marginal tax rate
EPAC Economic Planning Advisory Council
EU European Union
FWC Fair Work Commission
GATT General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade
GDP gross domestic product
GHG greenhouse gas
GST goods and services tax
HACC Home and Community Care Program
HECS Higher Education Contribution Scheme
HIA Housing Industry Association

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X Abbreviations

IMF International Monetary Fund

IPCC Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change
LGBTIQ+ lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex and queer/questioning
MLG multi-level governance
NDIS National Disability Insurance Scheme
NGO non-government organisation
NIEIR National Institute of Economic and Industry Research
NQS National Quality Standard
OECD Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
PAYG pay as you go
SACS social and community services
SES socio-economic status
UBI universal basic income
WC Washington Consensus
WTO World Trade Organization

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 XI

Preface
Social policy influences the lives of individual Australians and the nature of our
society. It affects whether we can get a job, obtain housing and health care, pay
for our everyday needs and have support when needed. It influences the extent of
poverty and inequality in our society. In this fourth edition of our social policy book,
we retain our original aim to give students, practitioners and researchers of social
policy an understanding of the potential of social policy to change society and how
it can operate to achieve this. The book is intended to help readers appreciate how
the social policy context affects individual lives, organisations, communities and
societies. It also introduces the reader to social policy as a discipline and an area of
practice by presenting information and knowledge about how to analyse the impacts
of social policy and how to develop and advocate for better social policy. As such, the
book generally aims to provide information for understanding, advocacy and action.
It is intended to be helpful for people with a general interest in appreciating the social
policy context of their lives and work, and for those who may be practitioners of social
policy at different levels and in different ways, inside and outside of government. To
assist the reader, more general and theoretical information is complemented with
case studies and examples from practice, and much of this material has been updated
to reflect the significant changes in Australian society since earlier editions, including
the election in 2019 of the Morrison government.
This fourth edition has more substantial changes than previous editions. In addition
to significant updates and new approaches in many chapters, based on the feedback
from readers it has more explicit material about advocacy, which we see as a form of
policy practice and exercised in different ways. Chapters also have more information
about Indigenous issues—the changing position of First Nation people and how this
position is influenced by socio-economic changes and different policies. There is
also now a more explicit focus on immigration given its much greater importance in
public discourse and on the changes affecting the welfare available to many in our
community. We have also benefited from the introduction of new authors.
Part 1 of the book, Introduction to Social Policy, introduces readers to the idea
of social policy, its scope and terrain, how it can be analysed and influenced, and
the institutional context for decisions and actions in Australia. All chapters have
been updated to reflect key changes since the third edition and to reflect recent
literature, and for Chapters 1 and 3 to have a greater focus on advocacy. Chapter 4
has been substantially rewritten but still covers the institutional framework for
decision-making, and the roles and relationships of the key players and institutions.
New material highlights the growing role of business in social policy, both in terms
of implementation, as for-profit organisations (and individuals) are increasingly
contracted to provide human services, and in terms of power to influence the

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XII Preface

adoption of certain policy approaches. New material also highlights the role of think
tanks in advocacy for certain policies and approaches.
Part 2, The Historical, International and Changing Context for Action, deals
with the historical development of Australia’s social policy and welfare state, places
Australia’s social policy in a comparative context, and concludes with a chapter
about its changing nature, including emerging issues and critical debates. Without
understanding our history, we cannot appreciate the nature of our unique social
policy arrangements, nor can we identify the choices that we are free to make. While
it is often said that globalisation brought an end to Australia’s unique ‘wage earners’
welfare regime, our reading challenges us to renew the tradition of economic
and social egalitarianism, and to do so in ways compatible with environmental
sustainability. Chapter 5 has been substantially rewritten to emphasise the key
themes in our history relevant to social policy and has a new section on history and
Indigenous Australians. Other countries have made some similar and some different
choices, and Chapter 6 analyses the different understandings of the critical factors
affecting these choices, the development of welfare states, and how these have been
translated into different welfare ‘regimes’. Chapter 7 identifies our future choices and
challenges in the context of globalisation and the emergence of concepts like the
‘social investment state’, ‘inclusive growth’ and ‘sustainable prosperity’ as markers of
a new post-neoliberal order in global social policy.
Part 3, Areas for Social Policy Action, contains an analysis of the key policy
areas that contribute to the welfare of different groups. We cover the intersection
between immigration and welfare policy in Australia, employment and wages, income
support, housing, health, education, community services, financing and taxation,
and climate change. Policies in these areas are central to the level and distribution
of material well-being in Australia and impact, either directly or indirectly, on
people’s relationships, capacity to participate and quality of life. In this regard the
book especially highlights problems due to the intersection between the increased
precariousness of the labour market and limited wage increases, the more punitive
approach to social security (including for immigrants), the lack of action on housing
affordability, and the inequalities in educational and health. These all increase the
vulnerabilities experienced by many and are intensified by changes such as global
warming and increased economic and political insecurity.
However, we are very conscious that, as we go to press, Australia is in the midst
of an unprecedented event—the unfolding of COVID-19 in Australia and around the
world. It is as yet too soon to predict the final impacts of the virus and the required
economic and social shutdown, but the changes could be profound and wide ranging
for Australia’s social policy direction and the individual areas of social policy covered
in this book. And while we are unable to cover these in any detail or certainty at
this time, we are sure that the contents of this book will enable readers to have the
background knowledge and skills to understand and respond.

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 Preface XIII

This is a comprehensive book that introduces readers to the meaning of social

policy and how it operates in Australia, as well as providing some guidance for social
policy practice that includes advocacy. It combines a general understanding of the
meaning of social policy and the relevant Australian institutional arrangements with
specific information about the particular areas relevant to social policy. It covers the
past, the present and emerging issues and debates and it places Australian social
policy arrangements in an international context. This is because we understand
ourselves more fully by comparing ourselves with others and because Australian social
policy is influenced by debates and events in other countries. The book also contains
a framework for understanding and intervening in the policy process in Australia.
While this framework provides an aid to understanding social policy as an exercise in
rational analysis and understanding, it is accompanied by an understanding of social
policy as politics and power and the importance of advocacy.
In developing this book, we are conscious of the need to support good policy
analysis and development as it is increasingly challenged by disputes about ‘facts’, the
undermining of different types of evidence and perspectives, the unequal distribution
of income and power and the downgrading of policy capacity in the public sector.
All of this has serious implications for the development of sound policies and the
capacity of different groups to have a say in the development of social policies that
affect them. We hope that this book will contribute to the improvement of social policy
in Australia by providing more people with the enthusiasm, skills and knowledge to
intervene in the policy process and to be engaged and effective policy actors.
Alison McClelland, Paul Smyth and Greg Marston

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Acknowledgments
We are very grateful to Stephen Bell, Anna Boucher, Deborah Brennan, Peter John
Chen, Natasha Cortis, Tony Dalton, Stephen Duckett, Bronwyn Hinz, Richard Krever,
Megan Nethercote, John Quiggin, Janet Stanley, Zoe Staines and Miranda Stewart
for their contribution to this book. Many thanks to the readers of earlier editions and
for the feedback you gave, which was so useful in the development of this fourth
edition.
We have benefited enormously from the assistance of the Oxford University Press
at all phases of the development of our manuscript, including Debra James’ original
encouragement for us to undertake a fourth edition. We especially acknowledge
Sarah Fay.
We also mention the inspiration and learnings derived from working with our
colleagues and students in our respective workplaces. Our emphasis on researching
for action no doubt reflects the enormous influence of Alison and Paul having directed
research and policy at the Brotherhood of St Laurence, all of our experiences in the
community sector and as researchers, academics, policy advocates and teachers, and
Alison’s more recent experience in government and at the Productivity Commission.

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Contributors
Stephen Bell is Professor of Political Economy and former Head of the School of
Political Science and International Studies at the University of Queensland. He is a
Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences in Australia. He is the author or editor
of eleven books and has published widely in national and international journals.
His most recent co-authored books include The Rise of the People’s Bank of China,
Harvard University Press; Masters of the Universe, Slaves of the Market, Harvard
University Press; and Fair Share: Competing Claims and Australia’s Economic Future,
Melbourne University Press.
Anna Boucher is Associate Professor in Political Science and Public Policy at the
University of Sydney. She holds degrees in politics and law, from Sydney University
and the London School of Economics. Her research focuses upon immigration
policy and its intersection with the welfare state, gender equality, industrial relations
and employment law as it impacts upon immigration. Her work has been published
in international journals and books and presented before intergovernmental and
government agencies. She is a regular commentator in the news and to government
inquiries on immigration issues.
Deborah Brennan is an Emeritus Professor and a leading researcher in comparative
welfare, family policy and gender and politics. She is the author of numerous scholarly
publications in the areas of gender, politics and family policy. Professor Brennan
contributes to national and international debates and has advised Australian and UK
governments on the development of policies for families and children. She was the
Inaugural Convenor of the National Association of Community Based Children’s
Services (NABCBS) and is a former President of the Australian Political Science
Association.
Peter John Chen is a senior lecturer in the Department of Government and
International Relations at the University of Sydney, where he teaches Australian and
regional politics, media politics and public policy. His work includes an interest in
the political content of film, the movement of political and policy ideas, and the
role of networks in collective action. He is a member of the editorial boards of the
Journal of Information Technology & Politics and the International Journal of Electronic
Governance. Peter is currently working on a new book on the politics of animal welfare
in Australia.
Natasha Cortis is Senior Research Fellow at the Social Policy Research Centre,
University of New South Wales. Her research focuses on the ways community services
are financed, regulated, delivered and evaluated, and the impacts community service
systems have on inequalities and social well-being. Her particular interests relate to
issues of organisational capacity and workforce issues in the community sector, and
women’s employment and economic security. Natasha contributes evidence on a

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XVI Contributors

range of community services issues to inform policy development and advocacy and
is Associate Editor of the Australian Journal of Social Issues.
Tony Dalton is Emeritus Professor in the Centre for Urban Research at RMIT
University. He has taught housing, urban studies, policy studies and research and
has published widely on many aspects of housing and policy. His research and
publication in the area of housing studies is closely connected to his participation in
non-government sector policy and advocacy work. Previously he has held a number
of senior management positions at RMIT University.
Stephen Duckett is Director of the Health Program at Grattan Institute. He has
a reputation for creativity, evidence-based innovation and reform in areas ranging
from the introduction of activity-based funding for hospitals, to new systems of
accountability for the safety of hospital care. An economist, he is a Fellow of the
Academy of the Social Sciences in Australia and of the Australian Academy of
Health and Medical Sciences.
Bronwyn Hinz is a Director at Nous Group and Honorary Fellow of Melbourne
Graduate School of Education. She has previously worked for the Education
Foundation, the Ethnic Communities’ Council of Victoria and two federal politicians;
taught public policy and Australian politics courses at the University of Melbourne;
and was a Visiting Scholar at Teachers College, Columbia University, New York City.
Her research has won national and international awards and her analysis frequently
appears in print and broadcast media.
Richard Krever AM is a Professor in the Law School at the University of Western
Australia. He has previously been seconded to the Australian Taxation Office and
Australian Treasury to assist with the implementation of several tax reforms and
has served on a number of government reviews of taxation. Richard has also been
seconded to international agencies including the International Monetary Fund
and World Bank to assist with tax reform projects in developing countries and has
contributed to similar projects for five international development agencies.
Greg Marston is Professor of Social Policy in the School of Social Science and
Deputy Executive Dean of the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences at the
University of Queensland. He has previously held positions at Queensland University
of Technology and RMIT University and visiting appointments in Sweden and the
United States. Prior to entering academia he worked in the community sector at
the local, state and national level. His main research interests are unemployment,
poverty, welfare governance, work and emerging technologies and the politics of
policy-making.
Alison McClelland AM has previously held senior positions in government,
academia and the community sector. She has been a Commissioner with the
Productivity Commission and participated in government boards and advisory
committees, held several honorary positions with the Australian Council of Social
Service (ACOSS), was made a member of the Order of Australia and awarded a

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 Contributors XVII

Centenary Medal for her contribution to social policy and social research in Australia.
Her main work has focused on the impact of social and economic policies on the
distribution of material well-being in Australia.
Megan Nethercote is a Vice-Chancellor’s Postdoctoral Fellow at RMIT University
and is based in the School of Global, Urban and Social Studies. Her research
investigates the impacts of urban intensification—and of capitalist political economy,
in particular—on households and cities. She was awarded the Malcolm Moore Award
in April 2017 to research the political economy of apartment development, and
specifically attempts to interrupt or contest ongoing housing commodification and
financialisation. She has worked on a number of ARC grants including HOME, a large
empirical study of infill apartment development across four cities (Melbourne, Perth,
London and Barcelona).
John Quiggin is an Australian Research Council Professorial Fellow and Federation
Fellow and a Professor in the School of Economics and the School of Political
Science and International Studies at the University of Queensland. He was an Adjunct
Professor at the ANU from 2003 to 2006 and was the Hinkley Visiting Professor
at Johns Hopkins University in 2011. From 1996 to 1999 he was a Professor of
Economics and Australian Research Council Senior Fellow at James Cook University.
From 2000 to 2002 he was a Senior Fellow at the ANU and the Inaugural Don
Dunstan Visiting Professor at the University of Adelaide.
Paul Smyth is Honorary Professor of Social Policy at the University of Melbourne
where he was previously founding Coordinator of the Master of Social Policy; and,
conjointly, General Manager of the Research and Policy Centre at the Brotherhood
of St Laurence. He was earlier Director of Social Policy in the School of Social Work
and Social Policy at the University of Queensland; and senior researcher at Uniya,
the Jesuit social research and action centre at Kings Cross, Sydney. His books include
Inclusive Growth in Australia, Allen & Unwin with John Buchanan (2013) and Reframing
Global Social Policy: Social Investment for Sustainable and Inclusive Growth (Policy Press)
with Christopher Deeming (2018).
Zoe Staines is a Research Fellow with the School of Social Science, University of
Queensland. She previously held research and policy positions in the Queensland
public sector and, most recently, in the not-for-profit sector, as a Senior Policy Officer
and Manager of Research for an Indigenous organisation. She has published in the
areas of policing, social policy, and rural/remote crime and governance. She was
recently awarded an ARC Discovery Early Career Researcher Award to further her
work into remote community experiences of social policy and is also an Associate
Editor of the Australian Journal of Social Issues.
Janet Stanley is an Associate Professor and Principal Research Fellow at the
Melbourne Sustainable Society Institute, Faculty of Architecture and Planning,
University of Melbourne and Visiting Professor at Hiroshima University, Japan.
Janet’s work focuses on the interface between social, environmental and economic

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XVIII Contributors

issues across policy, system design, and at community levels. Janet particularly
specialises in social inclusion and equity, child and adolescent welfare, transport and
urban planning, and climate change impacts. Janet has six authored and edited books,
the latest: Stanley, J.R., March, A., Ogloff, J. & Thompson, J. (2020) The Prevention of
Wildfire: International Best Practice, Vernon Press, Delaware, USA.
Miranda Stewart is Professor of Law at the University of Melbourne Law School
where she is Director of the Tax Group. Miranda is a Fellow at the Tax and Transfer
Policy Institute at the Crawford School of Public Policy, at the Australian National
University, where she was the inaugural Director from 2014 to 2017. Miranda engages
in research, teaching and consulting on a wide range of tax law and policy topics
including taxation of large and small business entities, not-for-profits and individuals;
international taxation; tax reform processes and budget institutions; and gender
equality. Miranda has an enduring interest in the resilience, legitimacy and fairness of
tax systems to support good government.

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 1

Part one
Introduction to Social Policy

This first part of the book introduces readers to the idea of social policy, its scope
and terrain, how it can be analysed and influenced, and the institutional context for
decisions and actions in Australia. Chapter 1 covers the importance of social policy;
its contested nature, purpose and forms; the broad scope of social policy; and its
relationship to other policy areas, including economic, environmental and public
policy. It shows how social policy has changed the nature of Australian life and the
choices available to individual Australians.
Policy is the expression of intent or purpose. This expression may be in the form
of a very detailed policy statement, a series of related statements, a very general
statement of values or an informal agreement. Social policy is also reflected in the
institutional arrangements that promote people’s welfare and in the impact of those
arrangements on people’s lives. It is also an area of study involving knowledge and
analysis that helps us understand social policy’s aims, context and impacts, as well
as its process: how we develop policies and persuade the relevant decision-makers
to adopt them.
Some questions to consider throughout this chapter are: How could social policy
make a difference to Australian society? What are the current issues that are relevant
to social policy today? Why is social policy important and what makes it different
from other areas of policy?
Ideas and values have a critical influence on policy; these, and the associated
concepts such as need, rights, equity and efficiency, are discussed in some detail
in Chapter 2. However, these concepts are not straightforward, and how they are
understood and given priority varies according to different assumptions about how
people behave and societies develop, as well as different values about what constitutes
the ‘good’ individual or society. These differences are reflected in different ideologies
and philosophical traditions, which are also covered in Chapter 2.
The final section of the chapter deals with some of the enduring design principles
of social policy and the choices between them. Should we provide services to all

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2

(universal provision) or should we target assistance to the most needy? How should
we provide welfare: through employers (such as superannuation), through the tax
system (through rebates and concessions) or through direct services and payments?
Such decisions are important as they influence who is able to benefit most from our
social policy decisions.
Some questions to consider throughout this chapter are: What is the dominant
ideological framework affecting decisions on social policy in Australia today? What
are the most important values within this framework? How is welfare being provided
in Australia today and is it changing?
Chapter 3 looks at how policy decisions are made and how to analyse policies to
better understand their influences and impacts. These issues are central for people
who wish to make a contribution to the development of better policies, who wish to
be effective policy practitioners and advocates. Chapter 3 responds to these questions
by providing a framework for policy analysis, advocacy and action, after considering
different views about how policy change occurs. Some questions to consider through
this chapter are: Is policy-making rational in Australia or is social policy mainly a
political process? How can we understand the impact of a policy on a group of
people? How can we be effective advocates for policy change in Australia?
In Chapter 4, we cover the institutional context for decision-making. The
institutional context affects how change occurs, including the power relationships
between different key actors and institutions in the policy process, and what is
achievable at any point of time. Some questions to consider are: Which groups in
Australia today have most influence on social policy? How does Australia’s system of
government affect social policy in Australia? In a particular area of social policy who
are the decision-makers and who has influence on them?

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 1
What is Social Policy?
Alison McClelland

Introduction
Social policy aims to improve people’s well-being, and is especially concerned with
the welfare of those who experience some form of disadvantage. This book is about
social policy in Australia: its purpose and meaning, how it operates now, how it has
operated in the past, and the social policy challenges for the future. We show how
social policy has affected the lives and choices of Australians over time. We cover
how social policy is made, so readers can understand the policy process and become
informed and skilled policy activists in their work to improve social conditions
through action and advocacy. In this first chapter the idea and scope of social policy
is explored: why it is important, what it means, where it is made and how it relates to
other policy areas and to broader institutional arrangements, often referred to as the
welfare state.

The importance of social policy

Social policy change has dramatically affected the lives and choices of Australians
over time. Social policy matters. There are many examples of past policy activism
in social policy–related areas. In the area of health and disability they include the
introduction of Medibank and Medicare in the 1970s and 1980s respectively and,
more recently, the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) in 2013. Medicare
changes increased access to health care, and also changed the way the costs of
health care are distributed in Australia. The NDIS also changed how assistance to
people with a disability is assessed, provided and funded. Other social policies, which
have been introduced for families, women and children, include:
• the introduction of Child Endowment in 1941, Family Allowance in 1976,
payments for single parents in the 1970s and additional assistance for low-income
families in the late 1980s and 1990s and beyond
• the introduction of family planning in the 1960s

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4 Part One: Introduction to Social Policy

• the expansion of childcare in the 1980s

• the introduction of paid parental leave in 2011.
These changes have influenced the choices that women can make about whether
and when to have children and how they combine work and family care. They have
also assisted families with the costs associated with raising children.
Another example of social policy that has affected the lives of Australian people is
the introduction of anti-discrimination legislation in the 1980s at both Commonwealth
and state levels. This legislation enlarged the rights of minority groups, such as people
with disabilities. More recently the right to legally marry was extended to same-sex
couples in 2018. For older people changes have included the introduction of the age
pension in the early days of federation, assistance for the development of residential
care in the 1960s and beyond, and the increase in services in the 1980s to enable
more people to remain at home .
The critical point is that such changes did not happen by accident. They required
committed, effective and persistent advocacy by people inside and outside of
government in different roles and positions. As Chapter 3 explains, policy practice
and policy advocacy can be exercised in many different roles in addition to the
designated policy positions inside and outside of government. For example, you
may be a member of a local group advocating for change to increase low-cost
housing, or for a better deal for refugees. Or you may be delivering services to people
experiencing disadvantages and wish to promote policy changes that will improve
their lives. Understanding the policy environment and how to achieve change will
enable you to be much more effective as an advocate.
The chapters about individual policy areas in Part 3 of this book provide more
detail about how policy change occurs, including how change can take place over a
long period of time. One such example, discussed in Chapter 12, concerns changes
to health care through the introduction of a national public health insurance scheme,
initially Medibank (introduced in 1975) and now Medicare (introduced in 1983).
Medibank and Medicare represented a significant shift in health care policy. They
provided for universal access to basic health care, replacing a system where coverage
for health care costs was predominately through private health insurance, with a
residual safety net for Australians receiving a very low income. Medicare significantly
reduced the cost of basic health care for many Australians, especially people not
previously covered through private health insurance or the residual safety net. The
cost of health care also became more equitable as the introduction of the Medicare
levy meant that the financing of health care was related more to a person’s capacity
to pay than their need for care (McClelland & Scotton 1998). However, the goals,
elements and benefits of Medicare have been disputed and the policy has changed
over time. It is now more problematic with high costs for many people.
Medibank, the initial version of what is now Medicare, was developed by the Whitlam
Labor government in 1975. It was contested and effectively abolished by the Fraser
Coalition government in the latter part of the 1970s. The Hawke Labor government

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

 Chapter 1: What is Social Policy? 5

then introduced Medicare in 1983, but changes by the Howard Coalition government
from 1996 to 2007, through the introduction of the Private Health Insurance Rebate and
then Medicare Plus (see Chapter 12 on health policy), alongside developing financing
pressures, watered down its universal and public nature. The Rudd and Gillard Labor
governments subsequently modified some of the Howard government changes; for
example, by income-testing access to the Private Health Insurance Rebate. The Abbott
Coalition government elected in 2013 reduced funding to the state governments
for health and continued to rely heavily on private health insurance even though the
premiums were out of reach of an increasing number of Australians and also associated
with large out-of-pocket health costs (Duckett & Nemet 2019; and Chapter 12).
These changes to Medicare point to the contested nature of social policy. People
have different views about what is good social policy and these views vary according
to differences in values about what is desirable and in assumptions about what
will work. Social policy therefore involves debates about values, and in the case of
Medicare the continuing central debate is about the values of public and private
financing and provision of health care.
Social policy also includes debates about the assumptions of the way individuals
and societies behave. In the case of Medicare, there are ongoing debates about
how people respond to free health care (for example, whether bulk billing leads to
unnecessary visits and if there is a need for a co-payment to limit such visits) and how
important it is to maintain private provision. Policies are therefore rarely completely
settled, but are frequently disputed and revisited.
Access to income support as a right is frequently contested. While the right to
support was progressively extended to different groups over the past century, as
detailed in Chapter 10, the welfare-to-work policies of respective governments from
the mid-1980s to the present time have frequently eroded that right, particularly for
people of working age. Policies often now aim to support ‘work not welfare’ and
expect a broader range of people to be in paid work, including women with caring
responsibilities and people with disabilities. Changes in the 2000s have therefore
often been accompanied by reductions in eligibility for income support or in the
level of support provided, as happened to many single parents under the Gillard
Labor government, when they were expected to be available for full-time work after
their child turned a certain age and were transferred to a different form of income
support. People with a disability have been similarly affected and working-age people
on income support payment are now expected to comply with a range of strict and
often onerous conditions to retain their payments. Indigenous people have been
particularly affected. Hunter and Venn found that
Indigenous social security recipients are more likely than non-Indigenous recipients
to receive payments that have conditionality or activation requirements such as
looking for work or participating in Work for the Dole, so face higher ongoing efforts
to maintain eligibility and greater risk of having benefits suspended or cancelled
(2019, p. 289).

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

6 Part One: Introduction to Social Policy

Much policy activism and advocacy is therefore about improving what is regarded
by some as poor policy, but again, such an assessment will be contested and will differ
according to people’s values and beliefs, and to changing ideas about what works.
The Howard government’s Northern Territory Emergency Response intervention
into Indigenous communities is a very good example of a highly contested policy
(see Chapter 10 and Hunter & Venn 2019). Introduced in 2007 in the lead-up to
the federal election, in response to a report about the extent of child abuse in
Indigenous communities, it contained very contentious elements, including the
removal of the permit system (through which Indigenous communities controlled
entry to their communities), the suspension of the Racial Discrimination Act and
the compulsory quarantining of a proportion of welfare payments on a debit card
that limits expenditure on certain items (income management). These policy changes
were seen by many people as necessary to protect children and improve community
functioning. However, others disagreed with these policy decisions on the basis that
they denied the rights and autonomy of Indigenous peoples. These debates have
continued under successive governments and have involved the extension of income
management under the guise of the Cashless Welfare Card to other areas in Western
and South Australia and Queensland (Koslowski 2019) despite evidence about its
limited effectiveness.
Chapter 2 provides more detail about how differences in values and assumptions
can influence the design of social policy in particular countries; for example, the
use of income and assets tests, plus conditional requirements in Australia’s income
support system. As a result of these differences in values and assumptions, social
policy can have a dark side and is not necessarily about the improvement of personal
welfare (Hill 2003) but may also be aimed at social control. One telling example of
this in Australia is how we have responded to refugees who arrive in boats. Since
2001 and the much-published incident of the Tampa, which rescued asylum seekers
attempting to seek refuge in Australia, this has been an extremely contested area of
public policy, which has influenced the election of different governments (Manne
2013). The then Howard government responded to the Tampa affair by increasing
mandatory detention and offshore processing to discourage asylum seekers
attempting to come to Australia without explicit permission. While the refugee policy
was initially softened by the Rudd/Gillard governments, the media focused on an
increase in boat arrivals and in the context of a federal election, it was subsequently
hardened with the introduction of a policy that people arriving by boat could never
settle in Australia. This policy continues to this day. For some in the community, these
policies are appropriate. For others they are socially unjust and very damaging to
the affected refugees. These differences reflect different values and understandings
about the reasons for people seeking refugee status and the problems they present.
These different understandings and values and the way they are influenced by media
portrayal and by politicians and other public figures can all have a strong influence
on social policy.

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
GREAT PAGODA IN TEMPLE AT TANJORE.
(192 feet high.)
 CHAPTER XII.
THE SOUTH INDIAN TEMPLES.

Leaving Colombo by steamer one evening in the later part of January,

I landed on the sandy flat shores of Tuticorin the next day about noon.
The deck was crowded with 250 of the poorest class of Tamils, coolies
mostly, with women and children, lying in decent confusion heaped
upon one another, passively but sadly enduring the evil motion of the
ship and the cold night air. One man, nameless, unknown, and abjectly
thin, died in the night and was cast overboard. I was the only
Englishman on board beside the captain and officers. Said the second
officer, “Well, I would rather have these fellows than a lot of English
emigrants. The lowest class of English are the damnedest, dirtiest,
etceteraest etceteras in the world.”
Tuticorin is a small place with a large cotton mill, several Roman
Catholic churches and chapels, relics of Portuguese times, and a
semi-christianised semi-wage-slaving native population. From there to
Madras is about two days by rail through the great plains of the
Carnatic, which stretch between the sea-shore and the Ghauts—long
stretches of sand and scrub, scattered bushes and small trees, and the
kittool palm; paddy at intervals where the land is moister, and
considerable quantities of cotton on the darker soil near Tuticorin; mud
and thatch villages under clumps of coco-palm (not such fine trees as
in Ceylon); and places of village worship—a portico or shrine with a
great clay elephant or half-circle of rude images of horses facing it; the
women working in the fields or stacking the rice-straw in stacks similar
to our corn-stacks; the men drawing water from their wells to run along
the irrigation channels, or in some cases actually carrying the water in
pots to pour over their crops!
These plains, like the plains of the Ganges, have been the scene
of an advanced civilization from early times, and have now for two
thousand years at any rate been occupied by the Tamil populations.
Fergusson in his History of Architecture speaks of thirty great
Dravidian temples to be found in this region, “any one of which must
have cost as much to build as an English cathedral.” I visited three,
those of Mádura, Tanjore, and Chidámbaram; which I will describe,
taking that at Tanjore first, as having the most definite form and plan.
I have already (chap. VII.) given some account of a smaller Hindu
temple. The temples in this region are on the same general plan.
There is no vast interior as in a Western cathedral, but they depend for
their effect rather upon the darkness and inaccessibility of the inner
shrines and passages, and upon the gorgeous external assemblage of
towers and porticos and tanks and arcades brought together within the
same enclosure. At Mádura the whole circumference of the temple is
over 1,000 yards, and at Sri Rungam each side of the enclosure is as
much as half a mile long. In every case there has no doubt been an
original shrine of the god, round which buildings have accumulated,
the external enclosure being thrown out into a larger and larger
circumference as time went on; and in many cases the later buildings,
the handsome outlying gateways or gópuras and towers, have by their
size completely dwarfed the shrine to which they are supposed to be
subsidiary, thus producing a poor artistic effect.
 TEMPLE AT TANJORE, GENERAL VIEW.
(Portico with colossal bull on the right, priests’ quarters among trees on the left.)

In the temple at Tanjore the great court is 170 yards long by 85

wide. You enter through a gateway forming a pyramidal structure 40 or
50 feet high, ornamented with the usual carved figures of Siva and his
demon doorkeepers, and find yourself in a beautiful courtyard, flagged,
with an arcade running round three sides, the fourth side being
occupied by priests’ quarters; clumps of coco-palms and other trees
throw a grateful shade here and there; in front of you rises the great
pyramidal tower, or pagoda, 190 feet high, which surmounts the main
shrine, and between the shrine and yourself is an open portico on
stone pillars, beneath which reposes a huge couchant bull, about six
yards long and four yards high, said to be cut from a solid block of
syenite brought 400 miles from the quarries. This bull is certainly very
primitive work, and is quite brown and saturated with constant libations
of oil; but whether it is 2,700 years old, as the people here say, is
another question. The difficulty of determining dates in these matters is
very great; historical accuracy is unknown in this land; and
architectural style gives but an uncertain clue, since it has probably
changed but little. Thus we have the absurdity that while natives of
education and intelligence are asserting on the one hand that some of
these temples are five or even ten thousand years old, the Western
architects assert equally strongly that they can find no work in them of
earlier date than 1000 a.d., while much of it belongs to the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries. Probably the architects are in the main
right. It is quite probable however that the inner shrines in most of
these cases are extremely old, much older than 1000 a.d.; but they are
so buried beneath later work, and access to them is so difficult, and if
access were obtained their more primitive style would so baffle
chronology, that the question must yet remain undetermined.
Close to the bull is the kampam or flagstaff, and then, beyond, a
flight of steps leading up to the main sanctuary and the tower or
pagoda. The sanctuary is all fine and simple work of red sandstone in
which horizontal lines predominate. At its far end and under the
pagoda would be no doubt the inner shrine or holy of holies—the
vimana or womb of the temple, a cubical chamber, in which the lingam
would be placed. Into these mysteries we did not penetrate, but
contented ourselves with looking at the pagoda from the outside. It is a
very dignified and reposeful piece of work, supposed by Fergusson to
belong to the early part of the fourteenth century; ninety-six feet square
at the base, with vertical sides for about fifty feet, and then gradually
drawing in narrower through thirteen stories to the summit (see plate at
head of this chapter). The red sandstone walls at the base are finely
and quietly paneled, with statues of Siva—not grotesque, but dignified
and even graceful—in the niches. Higher up in the pyramidal part the
statues are fewer, and are mingled with couchant bulls and flame-like
designs composed of multitudinous cobras and conches and discs
(symbols of the god—who is lord of Time, the revolving disc, and of
Space, represented by the sounding conch) in tiers of continually
diminishing size to the summit, where a small dome—said to be also a
single massive block of stone—is surmounted by a golden pinnacle.
The natural red of the stone which forms the lower walls is artificially
deepened in the panels, and the traces of blue and green tints
remaining, together with silvery and brown incrustations of lichen in the
upper parts, give a wonderful richness to the whole. I am afraid
however that the pyramidal structure is not stone, but brick covered
with plaster. The frequency of the bull everywhere throughout this and
other Saivite temples reminds one of the part played by the same
animal in Persian and Egyptian worship, and of the import of the
Zodiacal sign Taurus as a root-element of the solar religions. The
general structure and disposition of these buildings might I should think
also recall the Jewish and Egyptian temples.
All round the base of the great sanctuary and in other parts of the
temple at Tanjore are immense inscriptions—in Telugu, says one of the
Brahmans, but I cannot tell—some very fresh and apparently modern,
others nearly quite obliterated.
The absolute incapacity shown by the Hindus for reasoned
observation in religious matters was illustrated by my guide—who did
not in other respects appear to be at all a stickler for his religion. When
he first called my attention to the pagoda he said, adding to his praise
of its beauty, “Yes, and it never casts a shadow, never any shadow.” Of
course I did not trouble to argue such a point, and as we were standing
at the time on the sunlit side of the building there certainly was no
shadow visible there. Presently however—after say half an hour—we
got round to the other side, and were actually standing in the shadow,
which was then quite extensive, it being only about 9 a.m., and the sun
completely hidden from us by the pagoda; I had forgotten all about the
matter; when the guide said again and with enthusiasm, “And it has no
shadow.” Then seeing my face (!) he added, “No, this is not the
shadow.” “But,” said I, “it is.” “No,” he repeated, “this is not the shadow
of the pagoda, for that never casts any shadow”—and then he turned
for corroboration to an old half-naked Brahman standing by, who of
course repeated the formula—and with an air of mechanical conviction
which made me at once feel that further parley was useless.
It might seem strange to any one not acquainted with the
peculiarities of human nature that people should go on perhaps for
centuries calmly stating an obvious contradiction in terms like that,
without ever so to speak turning a hair! But so it is, and I am afraid
even we Westerners can by no means claim to be innocent of the
practice. Among the Hindus, however, in connection with religion this
feature is really an awkward one. Acute and subtle as they are, yet
when religion comes on the field their presence of mind forsakes them,
and they make the most wild and unjustifiable statements. I am sorry
to say I have never witnessed a real good thungeing miracle myself.
We have all heard plenty of stories of such things in India, and I have
met various Hindus of ability and culture who evidently quite believed
them, but (although quite willing and ready-equipped to believe them
myself) I have always felt, since that experience of the shadow, that
one “couldn’t be too careful.”
On either side of the great pagoda, and standing separate in the
courtyard, are two quite small temples dedicated, one to Ganésa and
the other to Soubramániya, very elegant, both of them; and one or two
stone pandals or porticos for resting places of the gods in processions.
One can imagine what splendid arenas for processions and festivals
these courts must afford, in which enormous crowds sometimes
assemble to take part in ceremonials similar to that which I have
described in chapter VII. Owing however to former desecrations by the
French (who in 1777 fortified the temple itself), and present treatment
by the British Government, this Tanjore temple is not so much
frequented as it used to be. The late Rajah of Tanjore, prior to 1857,
supported the place of course with handsome funds; but the British
Government only undertakes necessary repairs and allows a pension
of four rupees a month to the existing temple servants. They are
therefore in a poor way.
The arcade at the far end and down one side of the court is
frescoed with the usual grotesque subjects—flying elephants trampling
on unbelievers, rajahs worshiping the god, women bathing, etc., and is
furnished the whole way with erect stone lingams—there must be at
least a hundred of them. These lingams are cylindrical stones a foot
and a half high or so, and eight or nine inches thick, some bigger,
some smaller, standing in sort of oval troughs, which catch the oil
which is constantly poured over the lingams. Women desiring children
pay their offerings here, of flowers and oil, and at certain festivals
these shrines are, notwithstanding their number, greatly in request.

* * * * *
The palace at Tanjore is a very commonplace round-arched
whitewashed building with several courts—in part of which the women-
folk of the late rajah are still living behind their bars and shutters; the
whole place a funny medley of Oriental and Western influences; a
court of justice opening right on to one of the quadrangles, with great
oil paintings of former rajahs; a library; a harness and dress room, with
elephants’ saddles, horses’ head-gear, rajah’s headgear, etc.; a
reception room also quite open to a court, with sofas, armchairs,
absurd prints, a bust of Nelson, and a clockwork ship on a troubled
sea; elephants wandering about in the big court; painted figures of
English officers on the sideposts of one of the gates, and so forth.
Round the palace, and at some little distance from the temple,
clusters the town itself with its narrow alleys and mostly one-storied
cottages and cabins, in which the goldsmiths and workers in copper
and silver repoussé ware carry on their elegant trades.

* * * * *
The ancient city of Mádura, though with a population of 60,000, is
even more humble in appearance than Tanjore. At first sight it looks
like a mere collection of mud cabins—though of course there are
English bungalows on the outskirts, and a court-house and a church
and an American mission-room and school, and the rest. The weavers
are a strong caste here; they weave silk (and cotton) saris, though with
failing trade as against the incoming machine-products of capitalism—
and you see their crimson-dyed pieces stretched on frames in the
streets.
The choultrie leading up to one of the temple gates is a colonnade
110 yards long, a central walk and two aisles, with carven monolithic
columns—a warrior sitting on a rearing horse trampling shields of
soldiers and slaying men or tigers, or a huge seated king or god, in
daring crudeness—and great capitals supporting a stone roof.
Choultries were used as public feeding-halls and resting-places for
Brahmans, as well as for various ceremonies, and in old days when
the Brahmans were all-powerful such places were everywhere at their
service, and they had a high old time. This choultrie has however been
turned into a silk and cotton market, and was gay, when I saw it, with
crowds of people, and goods pinned up to the columns. Emerging from
it, the eastern gate of the temple stands on the opposite side of the
road—a huge gópura, pagoda form, fifteen stories or so high, each tier
crowded with figures—Siva hideous with six arms and protruding eyes
and teeth, Siva dancing, Siva contemplative, Siva and Sakti on the
bull, demon doorkeepers, etc.—the whole picked out in the usual
crude reds, yellows, greens, blues, and branching out at top into
grotesque dragon-forms—a strange piece of work, yet having an
impressive total effect, as it rises 200 feet into the resplendent sky over
the little mud and thatch cottages—its crude details harmonised in the
intense blaze, and its myriad nooks of shadow haunted by swallows,
doves and other birds.
There are nine such gópuras or gate-towers in all in this temple, all
on much the same plan, ranging from 40 to 200 feet in height, and
apparently used to some extent as dwelling-places by priests, yogis,
and others. These, together with the various halls, shrines, tanks,
arcades, etc., form a huge enclosure 280 yards long by nearly 250
wide.
On entering the huge doorway of the eastern gópura one finds
oneself immediately in a wilderness of columns—the hall of a thousand
columns—besides arcades, courts, and open and covered spaces,—a
labyrinth full of people (for this temple is much frequented)—many of
whom are selling wares, but here more for temple use, flowers for
offerings, cakes of cowdung ashes for rubbing on the forehead,
embroidered bags to put these in, money-changers, elephants here
and there, with bundles of green stuff among the columns, elephant-
keepers, the populace arriving with offerings, and plentiful Brahmans
going to and fro. The effect of the numerous columns—and there are
fully a thousand of them, fifteen feet high or so—is very fine—the light
and shade, glimpses of sky or trees through avenues of carved
monsters, or cavernous labyrinths of the same ending in entire
darkness: grotesque work and in detail often repulsive, but lending
itself in the mass to the general effect—Siva dancing again, or Ganésa
with huge belly and elephant head, or Parvati with monstrous breasts
—“all out of one stone, all out of one stone,” the guide keeps
repeating: feats of marvelous patience (e.g. a chain of separate links
all cut from the same block), though ugly enough very often in
themselves.
And now skirting round the inner sanctuary to the left, we come
into a sort of cloister opening on a tank some fifty yards square, from
whence we get a more general view of the place, and realise its
expanse. The five or six gópuras visible from our standpoint serve to
indicate this—all painted in strong color but subdued by distance, roofs
of various portions of the temple, clumps of palm and other trees, two
gold-plated turrets shining brilliantly in the sun, the tank itself with
handsome stone tiers and greenish waters where the worshipers wash
their feet, the cloisters frescoed with elaborate legendary designs, and
over all in the blue sky flocks of birds—swallows, doves, and bright
green parrots chattering. Once more we plunge into dark galleries full
of hungry-eyed Brahmans, and passing the shrine of Minakshi, into
which we cannot gain admittance, come into the very sombre and
striking corridor which runs round the entire inner shrine. The huge
monoliths here are carven with more soberness and grace, and the
great capitals bear cross-beams which in their turn support projecting
architraves. Hardly a soul do we meet as we make the circuit of the
three sides. The last turn brings us to the entrance of the inner
sanctuary itself; and here is the gold-plated kambam which I have
already described (chap. VII.), and close behind it the bull Nandi and
the gloom of the interior lit only by a distant lamp or two. To these inner
parts come only those who wish to meditate in quiet; and in some
secluded corner may one occasionally be seen, seated on the floor
with closed eyes and crossed legs, losing or endeavoring to lose
himself in samádhi.
Outside the temple in the streets of Mádura we saw three separate
Juggernath cars, used on occasions in processions. These cars are
common enough even in small Hindu towns. They are unwieldy
massive things, often built in several tiers, and with solid wooden
wheels on lumbering wooden axles, which look as if they were put on
(and probably are) in such a way as to cause the maximum of
resistance to motion. At Streevelliputhur there is a car thirty feet high,
with wheels eight feet in diameter. The people harness themselves to
these things literally in thousands; the harder the car is to move, the
greater naturally is the dignity of the god who rides upon it, and the
excitement becomes intense when he is at last fairly got under weigh.
But I have not witnessed one of these processions.

* * * * *
The temple of Chidámbaram is in some respects more interesting
than those of Tanjore and Mádura. It is in fact more highly thought of
as a goal of pilgrimage and a place of festival than any other South
Indian temple, and may be said to be the Benares of South India. The
word Chidámbaram means region of pure consciousness, and Siva is
worshiped here under his most excellent name of Nátarája, lord of the
dance. “O thou who dancest thy illimitable dance in the heaven of pure
consciousness.”
There is a little railway station of Chidámbaram, but it is two or
three miles from the temple and the town; and though the town itself
numbers some 20,000 to 30,000 inhabitants, there is not a single
Englishman resident in the place or within some miles of it, the only
white-faced inhabitant being a Eurasian druggist who keeps a shop
there. When I was there the whole temple was in course of repair, and
the Brahmans were such a nuisance that I really did not get so good
an idea of the place as I could have wished. These gentry swarm here,
and descend upon one like birds of prey, in quest of tips; indeed the
physiognomy of a great many of them suggests the kite family—sharp
eyes, rather close together, and a thin aquiline nose; this with their
large foreheads looking all the larger on account of the shaven head
does not give a very favorable impression.
The ascendancy of the Brahman caste is certainly a very
remarkable historical fact. It is possible that at one time they really
resembled the guardians of Plato’s ideal republic—teachers and rulers
who themselves possessed nothing and were supported by the
contributions of the people; but before so many centuries had gone by
they must have made the first part of their functions subsidiary to the
second, and now—though a good many of them ply trades and
avocations of one kind or another—the majority are mere onhangers of
the temples, where they become sharers of the funds devoted to the
temple services, and bleed the pockets of pious devotees. When a
Hindu of any worldly substance approaches one of these places, he is
immediately set upon by five or six loafers of this kind—each of whom
claims that his is the Brahman family which has always done the
priestly services for the visitor’s family (and indeed they do keep
careful note of these matters), and that he therefore should conduct
the visitor to the proper quarter of the temple, take his offerings to the
god, and receive his reward accordingly.
 This temple is I should think about the same size as that at
Mádura, but more open like the Tanjore temple. There are four
gópuras of about equal size—120 feet high or so—at the four points of
the compass. On entering by the eastern one the hall of a thousand
columns stands away in the court to the right, and gives the idea of a
complete temple in itself. The sides and back end are closed in, but
the front forms a sort of portico, and columns similar to those of the
portico—every one a monolith—extend through the entire interior.
There is a lane or aisle down the middle, and then on each side they
stand thick, in rows perhaps ten feet apart. As you go in the gloom gets
deeper and deeper. Only here and there a gap in the external wall
throws a weird light. The whole suggests a rock cave cut in
multitudinous pillars to support the overlying weight, or a gloomy forest
of tree-trunks. But the columns are commonplace in themselves, and
their number and closeness together under a flat roof of no great
weight is not architecturally admirable. When you reach the interior
sanctum, where you might expect to find the god at home, you
discover a mere bare cavity, so dark that you cannot see the roof, and
occupied by innumerable bats who resent your intrusion with squeaks
and shrieks. But my guide explained to me that twice a year the god
does come to dwell there, and then they clean the place up and
decorate it with lamps for a season.
A large tank stands just west of this hall—a tank 200 feet long I
should think—in which men (and women) were washing their feet and
clothes. These tanks are attached to every temple. At Mádura there is
a very beautiful one, “the golden lotus tank,” two miles away from the
temple, with a pagoda on an island in the midst of it—to which they
resort at the Taypúsam festival. Also at Mylapore, Madras, there is a
handsome tank with pagoda just outside the temple; but mostly they
are within the precincts.
 TEMPLE AND TANK AT MYLAPORE, MADRAS.

Entering the inner inclosure at Chidámbaram you come to various

arcades and shrines, where Brahmans and chetties raged. The
chetties have great influence at Chidámbaram; their caste supplies I
believe the main funds of the temple—which is practically therefore in
their hands. I was presented with flower garlands and a lime, and
expected to make my money-offering in front of a little temple, of
Vishnu I think, which they seasonably explained to me was to be
roofed with gold! On the other hand—to the left—was a temple to Siva
—both these forms being worshiped here. Into the shrine of Parvati I
did not penetrate, but it looked ancient and curious. Fergusson says
that this shrine belongs to the 14th or 15th centuries, and the inner
sanctuaries to somewhere about 1000 a.d., while the hall of the
thousand columns—which shows Mahomedan influence—is as late as
the 17th century.
 An elderly stoutish man, half naked, but with some authority
evidently—who proved afterwards to be the head of the chetties—
announced in a loud voice that I was to be treated with respect and
shown as much as possible—which only meant that I was to give as
large an offering as possible. Then an excited-looking fellow came up,
a medium-sized man of about forty, and began talking cockney English
as fluently and idiomatically as if he had been born by the Thames,
rattling off verses and nursery rhymes with absurd familiarity. The rest
said he was a cranky Brahman with an insane gift for language—knew
Sanskrit and ever so many tongues.
Escaping from these I left the temple and went into the village to
see the goldsmiths who are employed (by the chetties) on work
connected with its restoration. Found a large workshop where they
were making brass roof-pinnacles, salvers, pedestals for images, etc.,
and plating the same with gold leaf or plates—also store of solid gold
things—armlets and breastplates for the gods, etc.—another touch
remindful of Greek life. The gold leaf was being beaten out between
thin membranes—many leaves at once—with a hammer. All handwork,
of course.
My guide—who is the station clerk and a Brahman, while his
station-master is a Sudra (O this steam-engine!)—told me on the way
back that the others at the station often advised him to give up his
caste practices; but he had plenty of time in the middle of the day,
between the trains, to go through his ablutions and other ceremonies,
and he did not see why he should not do so.
As we walked along the road we met two pilgrims—with orange-
colored cloths—coming along. One of them, a hairy, wild, and
obstinate-looking old man, evidently spotted the hated Englishman
from afar, and as he passed put his tongue gently but firmly out at me!
 CHAPTER XIII.
MADRAS AND CALCUTTA.

India beggars description—the interminable races, languages, creeds,

colors, manners, costumes.
The streets of Madras (Blacktown) are a blaze of color—
predominant white, but red, orange, brilliant green and even blue
cloths and turbans meet the eye in every direction. Blacktown reminds
one of Pompeii—as it may have been in its time—mostly one-storied
buildings, stuccoed brick with little colonnades or lean-to thatches in
front, cool dark stone interiors with little or no furniture—a bit of a court
somewhere inside, with a gleam of the relentless sun—a few mango
leaves over the door in honor of the Pongal festival (now going on),
and saffron smeared on doorposts; a woman standing half lost in
shadow, men squatting idling in a verandah, a brahman cow with a
bright brass necklace lying down just in the street—(sometimes in the
verandah itself); a Hindu temple with its queer creepy images fronting
on the street, and a Juggernath car under a tall thatch, waiting for its
festival; or a white arabesqued and gimp-arched mosque with tall
minarets pinnacled with gold spiring up into the blue; absurd little stalls
with men squatted among their baskets and piled grains and fruits; and
always this wonderful crowd going up and down between.
I should think half the people have religious marks on their
foreheads—black, white, or red spots on the frontal sinus—horizontal
lines (Saivite), vertical lines (Vaishnavite)—sometimes two vertical
white marks joined at the base with a red mark between, sometimes a
streak of color all down the ridge of the nose—and so forth. It is as if
every little sect or schism of the Christian Church declared itself by a
symbol on the brow.
How different from Ceylon! There is a certain severity about India,
both climate and people. The dry soil, the burning sun (for though so
much farther north the sun has a more wicked quality about it here),
are matched by a certain aridity and tension in the people. Ceylon is
idyllic, romantic—the plentiful foliage and shade everywhere, the easy-
going nature of the Cinghalese themselves, the absence of caste—
even the English are softened towards such willing subjects. But here,
such barriers, such a noli-me-tangere atmosphere!—the latent feud
between Hindu and Mussulman everywhere, their combined
detestation of the English springing out upon you from faces passing;
rigid orthodoxies and superiorities; the Mahomedans (often big and
moderately well-conditioned men) looking down with some contempt
upon the lean Hindu; the Hindus equally satisfied in their own
superiority, comforting themselves with quotations from Shastras and
Puranas.
As to the boatmen and drivers and guides and servants generally,
they torment one like gadflies; not swindling one in a nice open riant
way like the Italians of the same ilk, but with smothered dodges and
obsequious craft. The last hotel I was at here was odious—a lying
Indian manager, lying and cringing servants, and an idiotic old man
who acted as my “boy” and tormented my life out of me, fiddling
around with my slippers on pretence of doing something, or holding the
towel in readiness for me while I was washing my face. On my leaving,
the manager—as he presented his bill with utmost dignity and grace—
asked for a tip; so did the head-waiter, and all the servants down to the
bath-man; then there were coolies to carry my luggage from the hotel
steps (where the servants of course left it) to the cab, and then when I
had started, the proprietor of the cab ran after it, stopped it, and
demanded a larger fare than I had agreed to! On one occasion (in
taking a boat) I counted eleven people who put in a claim for bakshish.
Small change cannot last for ever, and even one’s vocabulary of oaths
is liable to be exhausted in time!
It requires a little tact to glide through all this without exposing
oneself to the enemy. Good old John Bull pays through the nose for
being ruler of this country. He overwhelms the people by force, but
they turn upon him—as the weaker is prone to do—through craft; and
truly they have their revenge. Half believing in the idea that as sahib
and ruler of the country he must live in such and such style, have so
many servants, etc., or he would lose his prestige, he acquiesces in a
system of impositions; he is pestered to death, and hates it all, but he
must submit. And the worst is one is conscious all the time of being
laughed at for one’s pains. But British visitors must not commit the
mistake—so commonly made by people in a foreign country—of
supposing that the classes created in India by our presence, and who
in some sense are the reflection of our own sins, are or represent the
normal population—even though we naturally see more of them than
we do of the latter.
There are however in the great cities of India little hotels kept and
frequented by English folk where one is comparatively safe from
importunities; and if you are willing to be altogether a second-rate
person, and go to these places, travel second class by train, ride in
bullock-hackeries, and “undermine the empire” generally by doing
other such undignified things, you may travel with both peace of mind
and security of pocket.

* * * * *
Madras generally is a most straggling, dull, and (at night) ill-lighted
place. Blacktown, already described, and which lies near the harbor, is
the chief centre of native life; but the city generally, including other
native centres, plexuses of commercial life, knots of European hotels
and shops, barracks, hospitals, suburban villas and bungalows,
stretches away with great intervals of dreary roads between for miles
and miles, over a dead flat on whose shore the surf beats
monotonously. Adyar, where the Theosophists have their headquarters
—and which is still only a suburb of Madras—is seven miles distant
from the harbor. The city however, though shorn of its former
importance as far as the British are concerned, and slumbering on its
memories of a hundred years ago, is a great centre of native activity,
literary and political; the National Indian Congress receives some of its
strongest support from it; many influential oysters reside here; papers
like the Hindu, both in English and vernacular, are published here, and
a great number of books printed, in Tamil and other South Indian
languages.
At Adyar I saw Bertram Keightley and one or two others, and had
some pleasant chats with them. Col. Olcott was absent just at the time.
The Theosophist villa, with roomy lecture-hall and library, stands
pleasantly among woods on the bank of a river and within half a mile of
the sea. Passing from the library through sandalwood doors into an
inner sanctum I was shown a variety of curios connected with Madame
Blavatsky, among which were a portrait, apparently done in a
somewhat dashing style—just the head of a man, surrounded with
clouds and filaments—in blue pigment on a piece of white silk, which
was “precipitated” by Madame Blavatsky in Col. Olcott’s presence—
she simply placing her two hands on the white silk for a moment.
Keightley told me that Col. Olcott tested a small portion of the silk so
colored, but found the pigment so fast in the fibre that it could not by
any means be washed out. There were also two oil portraits—heads,
well framed and reverently guarded behind a curtain—of the now
celebrated Kout Houmi, Madame Blavatsky’s Guru, and of another,
Col. Olcott’s Guru—both fine-looking men, apparently between forty
and fifty years of age, with shortish beards and (as far as I could see,
for the daylight was beginning to fail) dark brown hair; and both with
large eyes and what might be called a spiritual glow in their faces.
Madame Blavatsky knew Col. Olcott’s Guru as well as her own, and
the history of these two portraits (as told me by Keightley) is that they
were done by a German artist whom she met in the course of her
travels. Considering him competent for the work—and he being willing
to undertake it—she projected the images of the two Gurus into his
mind, and he painted from the mental pictures—she placing her hand
on his head during the operation. The German artist medium
accounted for the decidedly mawkish expression of both faces, as well
as for the considerable likeness to each other—which considering that
Kout Houmi dates from Cashmere, and the other (I think) from Thibet,
might not have been expected. All the same they are fine faces, and it
is not impossible that they may be, as I believe Madame Blavatsky and
Col. Olcott considered them, good likenesses. Keightley was evidently
much impressed by the “old lady’s” clairvoyant power, saying that
sometimes in her letters from England she displayed a knowledge of
what was going on at Adyar, which he could not account for. Altogether
I had an interesting conversation with him.
Among other places in Madras I visited one of the little Pompeiian
houses in Blacktown, which I have already described—where a Hindu
acquaintance, a small contractor, is living: a little office, then a big
room divided in two by a curtain—parlor in front and domestic room
behind—all cool and dark and devoid of furniture, and little back
premises into which I did not come. He is an active-minded man, and
very keen about the Indian Congress to which he was delegate last
year, sends hundreds of copies of the Hindu and other “incendiary”
publications about the country each week, and like thousands and
hundreds of thousands of his fellow-countrymen to-day, has learnt the
lessons taught him by the British Government so well that the one
thing he lives for is to see electoral and representative institutions
embedded into the life of the Indian peoples, and the images of Vishnu
and Siva supplanted in the temples by those of John Stuart Mill and
Herbert Spencer.
While I was there two elderly gentlemen of quite the old school
called—innocent enough of Herbert Spencer and of cloth coats and
trousers—with their white muslins round their bodies, and red shawls
over their shoulders, and grey-haired keen narrow faces and bare
shins and horny feet, which they tucked up onto their chairs as they
sat; but with good composed unhurried manners, as all Easterns of the
old school seem to have. This habit of the mild Hindu, of tucking his
feet under him, is his ever-present refuge in time of trouble or
weariness; at the railway station or in any public place you may see
him sitting on a seat, and beneath him, in the place where his feet
ought to be, are his red slippers; but of visible connection between
them and his body there is none—as if he had already severed
connection with the earth and was on the way toward heaven.
Calcutta.—Arrived 6th Feb., about 4 p.m.—steaming all day since
dawn up the Hooghly, 130 miles from the light-boat at its mouth to
Calcutta—a dismal river, with dismal flat shores, sandy and dry in
places and only grown with scrub, in others apparently damp, to judge
by the clumps of bamboo; landscape often like Lincolnshire, trees of
similar shape, stacks of rice-straw looking just like our stacks, mud and
thatch villages; in other places the palmyra and coco-nut palm; and
doubtless in parts wild tangles and jungles haunted by tigers;
aboriginal boats going up and down; and the Hooghly narrowing at last
from four or five miles near its mouth to half a mile at the Howrah
bridge of boats.
Nearing Calcutta brick-kilns and the smoky tall chimneys of
civilisation appear along the banks, and soon we find ourselves among