You heard of JD Vance; he lacking a given name? JD often says the silent out loud.  Like, America is for white people.  And to avoid being over-run white people must suppress those all of other colours. Including whites who have a drop of black or brown blood in them (like my wife).  And whites who are whites but believe in the equality of all humanity (like me).

We who were born in democracies in the twilight of World War II and the years following, despite all the wars and sadnesses those years have seen, have lived through a golden time.

In Australia we have been monumentally judicious (or more likely lucky) in swapping a British Empire trashed by war for a USA pumped by capital. All we have to do for America is keep saying 'yes sir'.

Truth to tell, we have been monumentally stupid in not building a real relationship with South East Asia, and especially Indonesia, where I shall be for a week from tomorrow.

You will better comprehend how stupid this is should the USA fall into the hands of wrecker Trump and opportunist Vance leaving us swinging on the rotting rope of meaningless American promises.

Perhaps it is still not too late for Asia. Like many of you, I spent some of my best years in the Asia Pacific Islands region. We know these people pretty well and understand their feelings toward us.

This is, apart from trade and travel, largely ignoring them; an ignorance sorely letting down these good people who, even though they mock us behind our backs, bear fondness for our individual amiability and easy generosity.

Unable to leave ship or hotel, I spend my days walking the decks or halls, not that I can walk far.  I also get satisfaction by watching the relentless energy of the ocean or, if it's not available, the busy clamour of port or city.

I also have plenty of time to keep track of my ailments in an attempt to better understand them.

And to think of hapless people who gossip that being on a passenger liner is like floating in a petri dish. People who have never been on ship like the ones I use for travel.

Best of all, this long journey I'm on – despite its inconveniences for a man barely able to walk – seems to have released my mind to write a bit, something that of late my impaired cognition had limited. 

Back to the USA....  In an era of ugly politics and uglier events, America's standing is weak and its state of confused grievance a cause of great anxiety. It does not know what to do in a crisis. 

The collective judgement of the American people is shoddy. They nearly sank Ukraine last year. And this year they're assisting an out-of-control Israeli government kill Palestinian civilians.  Next year, if Trump wins, Ukraine will be Russian and Gaza will have no Palestinians.

The Americans have forgotten how to handle a crisis.  They never worked out that arming everyone to the teeth with heavy duty weaponry would lead to some, er, problems.

We've all seen a crisis or two. And been in them.

I was training to be a teacher at the Australian School of Pacific Administration in Sydney in 1962 when the Cuban missile crisis seemed to foreshadow a nuclear nightmare.  For a couple of days we all thought we were about to become a giant dust cloud.  The clever ones fled to the Blue Mountains.

Something over a year later, in November 1963, I was on the steps of the post office in Wewak when a horrified voice yelled that president Kennedy had been assassinated.  In June 1966 I was at my remote school in the PNG Highlands when Australian opposition leader Arthur Calwell was wounded by a would-be assassin outside Mosman Town Hall and given emergency aid by ASOPA's admin boss Vic Parkinson. 

On 11 November 1975, I was having  lunch in the beer garden of the Lae Hotel and was stunned to be told of the political demise of Gough Whitlam in a bloodless coup. Whitlam was a good and decent Labor prime minister trying to do the right thing, although conservatives still defame him.

And later the crises got personal. I was recruited as the ABC's political and media chief and this total immersion in national affairs made brought crisis almost by the day.  You may have forgotten about The National or the Phantom Army or Eight Cents A Day or the Larry Pratt Dismissal or the Whitehead Affair, but I can show you the wounds. 

And then I began a business of my own advising on crises.  Over 10 years I built it into a 25-strong $5 million operation until struck down by an illness with no proper name, no cure and no treatment beyond what my doctor and I devise to ease the way. 

The crisis which somehow had always been somewhere else had come home and become existential.  Bloody hell!

Now, as an old man knocking on the door of 80, I understand that every life has crises and that very many of them are caused by other humans behaving badly.  Or God behaving badly.

If Trump wins in November I will take it as a personal slight by God.

I've heard the bleating of those Australians who believe that this man Trump has reached the apogee of international leadership when in reality he's nothing more than a whinging, loud-mouthed, self-idolising cultist.

But somewhat worse to my mind is the thought of the Albanese government betraying our country to this fool; handing over more of our already shrivelled sovereignty as we suck up to a slug who we mistakenly believe  will provide us with protection from people who, if we were half smart, we would be friends with.

That rant made, I do hope my readers are strong and as fit as may reasonably be expected.  And special good wishes to Bill Brown, to whom I owe an email or twelve.

I know I've been off piste a lot lately (and surely will be again) but keep those articles and comments rolling in. They're good for morale.  Yours and mine.

PNG Attitude remains well read; even pieces that go back 15 or more years are frequently referenced.  At present we're averaging only 750 readers a day (although some strong stories over the last 24 hours elevated reader numbers to 2,250 for the day).

There are more than 17,500 pieces of writing on this blog and, if you feel a  need for even greater immersion, there are also well over 52,000 comments.

Enjoy the crisis.

On the aft poop deck, his preferred location whether at sea or in port, Keith says farewell to Casablanca (Photo taken surreptiously by Ingrid Jackson)