Over the years, MB has tried various tactics to bring attention to Australia’s disappearing sovereign industrial capability.
First, it was cars.
Next, it was fuel refining.
Then, it was plastics.
Then, it was fertiliser.
And now, it is ammonia.
Australia’s mining and farming industries are facing more disruption amid shutdowns at two big ammonia-making plants on either side of the country.
Orica said on Tuesday it was grappling with an outage at its Kooragang Island ammonia plant in NSW in a blow to the supply of a key ingredient used in explosives in the mining industry and in fertilisers for agriculture.
The problem at Kooragang compounds what appear to be much bigger problems at Yara’s ammonia plant in the iron ore-rich Pilbara region in Western Australia.
The double whammy comes amid global supply shortages, given that more than 25 per cent of ammonia flows through the Strait of Hormuz.
Over the years, we have tried to point out that a true nation must be able to make engines, refine fuel, create plastics, and produce fertiliser, as well as munitions on a large scale.
What we have, rather, is a quarry with a kind of giant shitter attached.
It can’t defend itself. It can’t get around by itself. It can’t produce complex manufactured goods on its own, and it can’t feed itself.
In what way does this cretin qualify as a nation?
A defenceless, starving, immobile, and dumb mound of flesh that is added to only by a troughed belt conveyor that deposits foreign meat upon the pile.
Can this pointless heap of dirt, shit, and tissue identify as ‘national’ in any meaningful sense?
Yes, in one outstanding way.
The misshapen and shuffling thing will bid for scarce property on the most uninhabited continent on earth as if his or her life depended upon it.
And it will do so as it creates an inverted ziggurat of debt many times the size of the economy it purports to have, hovering above it like some anvil of Damocles.
In today’s crisis of industrial merit, our animated carcass heedlessly slouches towards a maelstrom that will tear it blob from blob as each scrambles for one last suck of the sap, one last shovel in the dust, one last squeeze at the pump, one last guzzle at the smorgasbord. But, most of all, one last bid at the auction as it devours its progeny to survive the waning day.
By the time it is done, nothing will be left, and it will be forgotten.
