Arms Industry Funds Australian Militarism

"The head of the Australian war Memorial, Brendan Nelson, was personally receiving payments from the multinational arms manufacturer Thales while publicly defending the institution's controversial acceptance of donations from weapons companies. The AWM has strongly denied any suggestion that Thales' payments to Nelson for his work as a board member created a conflict of interest, saying Nelson donated any money he received and cleared the arrangement as required with the federal government. The AWM has drawn criticism for accepting funding from weapons manufacturers, including Thales, which is a sponsor and supporting partner of the institution. The Medical Association for Prevention of War told a Senate inquiry last year such sponsorship was 'contemptible' and pointed out the 'stark' irony of an institution commemorating the horrors of war accepting money from companies that profit from conflict." (From Brendan Nelson denies 'conflict of interest' after passing on fees from arms firm to war memorial, Christopher Knaus, theguardian.com/australia, 24/4/19)

There you have it folks, the arms industry, enabled by a former Liberal Party leader, directly involved in stoking one of Australia's fastest-growing and nastiest trends, militarism.

And while we're at it on Anzac Day, another hyped component of Australian militarism, here's British war poet Wilfred Owen's Anthem for Doomed Youth, written during World War I, which consumed the poet himself:

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.