A matchless style

By Paul Barry
December 28, 2005 SMH
Illustration: Rocco Fazzari

AUSTRALIA will never be quite the same again. He shaped this country's television, transformed cricket around the world and rampaged through corporate and political Australia in a style that none will ever match.
Politicians and ministers quailed at his call. Rival businessmen wilted under his attack.
On the racetrack, bookies trembled at his approach, while casinos either closed their doors or rubbed their hands with glee.
Kerry Packer was Australia's richest man, perhaps the world's biggest gambler and a huge and dominating presence for 30 years. Whatever he did, he did it large and loud, without apology.
Employees at Channel Nine and rivals in TV spoke of him as the rudest and most frightening man they ever met - they didn't know his father, Sir Frank - yet he also commanded huge loyalty and affection. Though brutal, he could also be charming, polite and extraordinarily generous. Like his father before him, he was an enigma: a man of moods and contradictions, often isolated, lonely and unhappy.
Kerry Packer was one of the most powerful people in Australia, and here's why: he was a billionaire, which was a good start; he owned the nation's top TV network and a stable of magazines, which was even better; and he was extremely smart and negotiated well, which guaranteed he made the most of his advantages. But most of all, he was a terrifying man to say no to.
Face to face, he was quite formidable. Put simply, he inspired fear.
Unlike Rupert Murdoch, Packer very rarely used his magazines, newspapers or TV stations to attack governments. As a general rule, he did not tell his journalists whom to attack, whom to support or what to write.
Yet successive governments, including the current one, were so worried about what he or his media outlets might do that they rushed to give Packer what he wanted, almost before he asked.
The decision in 1986 by the Hawke government to permit TV companies to own networks across Australia more than doubled the value of Packer's Sydney and Melbourne Channel Nine stations, and allowed him to sell to Alan Bond for $1 billion.
The restrictions imposed on pay TV by the Keating government in 1992 were similarly slanted in favour of the big man. And the Howard Government was no better. Its 1999 decision to guarantee the commercial TV networks a monopoly until 2007 benefited the Packers enormously.
For two decades and more, politicians came running when Packer called. And if he wielded more power than is healthy, it was because governments let him do so. Even prime ministers went out of their way to be nice to him.
When Packer sold Channel Nine to Bond in 1987, the program makers organised a testimonial video for their departing boss. All the stars joined in to sing his praises. But the real star was Bob Hawke, who introduced the proceedings from his garden at Kirribilli House.
Straight to camera, one powerful man to another, he gave the big man a ringing personal endorsement: "G'day, Kerry, I don't think anyone has made a greater contribution to television news and current affairs than you."
He followed up with a heartfelt homily on Packer's treatment at the Costigan royal commission, in which Packer had been famously accused of involvement in organised crime, drug smuggling and even murder, under the code name "the Goanna".
"I don't think any figure in Australia has had to bear such a burden as Kerry Packer," said Hawke, "with the unjustified innuendos, slanders, the malicious gossip.
"And it was all untrue. Loyalty is a two-way thing, Kerry. You've certainly given it to your people. I hope you feel that all of them and all of your friends have stuck by you. You deserve it."
Far more recently, John Howard has publicly defended Packer's meagre tax-paying record, when he could just as easily have attacked it, showering praise on Packer's generosity to charity and his record as a good corporate citizen.
Bob Carr has also joined the queue of homage-payers, telling The Daily Telegraph while premier of NSW that it was vital for the economy that Packer recovered from a health scare.
In business Packer wielded huge power, bullying and threatening those who got in his way. Steve Cosser and John Gerahty, who ran Channel Ten in the early 1990s and tried to challenge Channel Nine's dominance of the TV market, were two who felt the full force of Packer's wrath.
Cosser remembers being told: "If you think there's no difference between being No.1 and No.2 in a f---ing two-station market, then you be f---ing No.2."
Gerahty was summoned to Packer's office to be treated to a tirade that had him still shaking months later. The big man's message was that Channel Ten should not compete against Packer's station and should not bid against Channel Nine for programs. But the style was even more shocking. According to Gerahty, Packer's manner was threatening and his language was coarse and abusive.
Packer's attitude to journalists was much the same, especially if they were writing about him or his business. He held most of them in contempt, along with politicians, and rarely talked to them. When he did do so, it was usually to complain that no one ever checked stories with him or asked for his opinion.
When I wrote The Rise and Rise of Kerry Packer in 1993, he threatened to "prosecute [me] with the utmost vigour" and warned me that he would also sue "any other person who has any involvement whatsoever in the production of the book and the provision of information to you".
He tried to ensure that employees and friends did not talk to me. But while some journalists who wrote about Packer ended up being sued personally, so that their houses were on the line, I escaped. I even ended up working for him.
Even though he insisted on his privacy, his media empire regularly dished the dirt on other people's private lives. But, to his credit, he was a key factor in making Channel Nine a leader in commercial news. 60 Minutes was Packer's baby, as was the more serious and upmarket Sunday.
Packer's talent in television and, to a lesser extent, in magazines, was to know what worked and to go for it. He hired the right people and inspired them to give him the best.
On a broader canvas, he did what rich men do. He showed great skill in turning a $100 million inheritance into an empire that is worth some $7 billion today. And he did so without succumbing to the excesses of the 1980s, or committing corporate crimes.
He also gave back. While he did not pump billions into a charitable foundation - as so many rich Americans have done - he did give millions of dollars to the Children's Hospital at Westmead and the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital in Sydney. And he helped many friends, and friends of friends, when they were in trouble.
But paying tax was another matter altogether. His policy, like that of his father before him, was to pay as little as possible and to employ an army of lawyers and accountants to find loopholes in the law.
In the 1970s, tax investigators were constantly on his tail and on more than one occasion he was forced to settle out of court to avoid the risk of prosecution. In the 1980s and 1990s the Tax Office's audit teams were also on his case.
The problems with Costigan - who was interested in large deliveries of cash to Packer - stemmed largely from tax schemes he engaged in to avoid paying his dues. As he famously told the nation in 1991 during the televised Senate inquiry into the media, only a fool paid more tax than he had to and he didn't think politicians were spending his money so well that he wanted to contribute more.
Packer's business empire is owned through a holding company in the Bahamas and ultimate control rests with a string of family trusts. The clear purpose of such arrangements is to keep tax payments to an absolute minimum. So much for the concerned corporate citizen.
Meanwhile, he spent big on having fun, or trying to. Hundreds of millions of dollars went on playing polo (building lavish facilities on three continents) and he gambled hundreds of millions more in casinos, racetracks and foreign-exchange markets.
At the Sydney spring carnival in 1987 he was reportedly $28 million down to the bookmaker Bruce McHugh on the last day of racing, then backed three successive winners to end up $2 million ahead. Two days later, a shaken McHugh walked into the Australian Jockey Club offices and handed in his bookmaker's licence.
Packer's worry when he took over the family business from his father was that he might lose his inheritance and take the Packers from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations. But his worries were groundless. And there is no need to fret about his son, James, despite the One.Tel fiasco in which the Packers' public company, PBL, lost $400 million.
James may not have his father's uncanny instinct but he has a good team of people around him and has already taken the important (and successful) strategic decision to concentrate on casino and internet gaming. With Kerry gone, Channel Nine may be sold, but it was probably on the block anyway.
Sadly, no one was able to ask Kerry the question that was posed to Sir Frank Packer in his twilight years in a wonderfully grovelling interview on ABC TV in 1970. "Your father was a pioneer and you have become a legend," the great man was asked. "What is left for your sons to do?"
"Plenty" should have been the answer. And it might have been if Kerry had been asked it before his death.
There will be plenty more to come from James. I can't see him going off to grow vegetables. He may not be so much fun to watch. He may not spawn so many stories. His style is not so loud and brutal, thank heavens. But James is smart and tough and he has learnt at the feet of the master.

Betting man's advice: never risk the lot

By Kate McClymont
December 28, 2005 SMH

"MY FATHER was a gambler. Every man who ever created anything was a gambler," Kerry Packer once said. "I am also, but there's a difference … I've never risked the lot. I've never risked anything that's going to put Consolidated Press at risk."
While he became Australia's richest man with his successful gambling forays on the business field, Packer's activities at the track and in casinos around the world are legendary. And while he might have been careful not to risk it all, Packer was never averse to challenging others, whether casino operators or bookmakers, to risk their all to take him on.
There is the famous tale which has Packer ensconced in the high-roller suite at a Las Vegas casino with a big-talking American businessman. The loud American let it be known that he was worth some $US60 million ($82 million). Packer reputedly said nothing. Then, without raising his eyes from the table, said: "Toss you for it."
In The Rise and Rise of Kerry Packer, the author Paul Barry wrote: "As one of his executives put it, he gambles when he's bored, and he gambles often because he's often bored."
The months after Packer's billion-dollar sale of Channel Nine to Alan Bond must have severely tested the media magnate's boredom threshold. Two months later, in March 1987, Packer lost $19 million playing blackjack at the Ritz in London.
At Easter he was back in town for the Golden Slipper at Rosehill where it was alleged that Australia's richest man wagered $20 million in one day and finished the day $7 million worse off.
Sydney bookmaker Bruce McHugh hung up his bookie's satchel at the end of that autumn's racing after what observers described an an unprecedented betting duel with the media tycoon which was estimated to have topped $50 million in three days.
Packer's forays into the business of gaming were increasing at the time of his death. Publishing and Broadcasting Limited appeared to be looking to casinos and online gaming to provide future profits as free-to-air television revenue continued to slow. Already the owner of Melbourne's Crown Casino and Perth's Burswood Casino, PBL turned its attention to the potential riches to be reaped in Asia.
And another of Packer's gaming ventures appears finally set to fly. The Tasmanian Government recently announced it would grant Betfair Australia, a $60 million joint venture between PBL and the British company Betfair, the first Australian betting exchange licence.
With Packer's passing, it appears likely that James Packer will follow the money trail which leads towards Asian gamblers.
As he said recently: "I'd hate to be [Ten executive chairman] Nick Falloon. I'd be going to bed in a cold sweat each night … to have 100 per cent of your business in free-to-air TV, in one platform, in a platform which has enormous challenges. We don't have that problem.
"Nine is about 20 per cent of our business. In a perfect world Nine will grow, but its share of PBL earnings will decline and that is a happy outcome."

Man with his finger on the TV remote

By Stephen Gibbs
December 28, 2005 SMH

HE SITS, he glares, barely moving. All the televisions are turned on. To change the picture he can reach for the remote control, a telephone or a gun.
The best-known Packer anecdotes create this image of the billionaire-lizard: watching, waiting, wanting to strike when he does not like what he sees.
Told over decades, usually by former employees, they make a canon of colourful stories - a narrative stretching from his ancestry into the afterlife. They could be told because of the Packer motto: "Never complain, never explain" and Gordon French tells one of the best.
On the day of the Hilton hotel bombing in 1978 the Sydney program boss offered his view that security in Mr Packer's Park Street headquarters was not up to scratch. He asked what Mr Packer would do if someone came into his office intent upon doing him harm.
"Kerry opened his desk drawer, produced a big handgun and said 'I'd use this', or words to that effect," Mr French recalled last year. "He then leaned across the desk and pointed the gun at my head and added: 'Which is what I'll do to you if the ratings don't improve' and pulled the trigger."
All the best Packer anecdotes contribute to the picture of a man oblivious to outside interference, in supreme command. They show the ruthless exercise of wealth and power, but also spontaneous acts of wild generosity and a resignedly bleak outlook on life.
His policy of not personally replying to what was said about him in public means the apocryphal sits alongside fact. Most rumours of his gambling, and outrageous tipping, he let stand.
The Packer biographer Paul Barry has cited AJC betting turnover figures, and Mr Packer's attendance at the track, to estimate the billionaire staked $55 million during the autumn carnival at Royal Randwick in 1987.
The British gossip columnist Nigel Dempster reported in 1991 that Mr Packer had tipped croupiers at the Las Vegas Hilton $US50,000 each after a $7 million blackjack win. Four hostesses each scored $75,000 tips after a lucky Packer run at Jupiters on the Gold Coast in 1998.
A few anecdotes that go some way to explaining Mr Packer's behaviour, or creating his image, were told by Mr Packer himself.
The most famous is probably a story from his childhood retold in Barry's book The Rise and Rise of Kerry Packer. It tells of the Geelong Grammar student arriving home to Bellevue Hill for a summer holiday, having forgotten to pack his tennis racquet. Sir Frank sent him back on the train.
It suggests a terrible childhood and alludes to ingrained discipline but when Mr Packer told the story on television he made it sound humorous. Mr French reportedly laughed retelling the gun-to-the-head yarn, but when in Mr Packer's office that day his hands shook with fear.
In other anecdotes, Mr Packer wielded a phone like a gun. In 1992 he pulled Doug Mulray off air after watching dogs mating presented as entertainment on Australia's Naughtiest Home Videos.

Clint shares 96 percent of human DNA

Chimps, Humans 96 Percent the Same, Gene Study Finds
Stefan Lovgrenfor August 31, 2005
National Geographic news

Scientists have sequenced the genome of the chimpanzee and found that humans are 96 percent similar to the great ape species.

"Darwin wasn't just provocative in saying that we descend from the apes—he didn't go far enough," said Frans de Waal, a primate scientist at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. "We are apes in every way, from our long arms and tailless bodies to our habits and temperament."

Because chimpanzees are our closest living relatives, the chimp genome is the most useful key to understanding human biology and evolution, next to the human genome itself. The breakthrough will aid scientists in their mission to learn what sets us apart from other animals.

By comparing human and chimpanzee genomes, the researchers have identified several sequences of genetic code that differ between human and chimp. These sequences may hold the most promise for determining what creates human-specific traits such as speech.
"If people are asking what makes us human, they're not going to find a smoking gun [in this study]," said Evan Eichler, a genome scientist at the University of Washington in Seattle who was part of the research team. "But they're going to find suggestions for where to look."
The project was conducted by an international group of scientists called the Chimp Sequencing and Analysis Consortium. Sixty-seven researchers co-authored the study, which is detailed tomorrow in the journal Nature.

Genetic Blueprints
To map the chimp genome, researchers used DNA from the blood of a male common chimpanzee (Pan troglodytes) named Clint, who lived at the Yerkes National Primate Research Center in Atlanta. Clint died last year from heart failure at the relatively young age of 24.
A comparison of Clint's genetic blueprints with that of the human genome shows that our closest living relatives share 96 percent of our DNA. The number of genetic differences between humans and chimps is ten times smaller than that between mice and rats.
Scientists also discovered that some classes of genes are changing unusually quickly in both humans and chimpanzees, as compared with other mammals. These classes include genes involved in the perception of sound, transmission of nerve signals, and the production of sperm.
Despite the similarities in human and chimp genomes, the scientists identified some 40 million differences among the three billion DNA molecules, or nucleotides, in each genome.
The vast majority of those differences are not biologically significant, but researchers were able to identify a couple thousand differences that are potentially important to the evolution of the human lineage.

"The goal is to answer the basic question: What makes us humans?" said Eichler.

Eichler and his colleagues found that the human and chimp sequences differ by only 1.2 percent in terms of single-nucleotide changes to the genetic code.
But 2.7 percent of the genetic difference between humans and chimps are duplications, in which segments of genetic code are copied many times in the genome.
"If genetic code is a book, what we found is that entire pages of the book duplicated in one species but not the other," said Eichler. "This gives us some insight into the genetic diversity that's going on between chimp and human and identifies regions that contain genes that have undergone very rapid genomic changes."

Mutations
Humans and chimps originate from a common ancestor, and scientists believe they diverged some six million years ago.
Given this relatively short time since the split, it's likely that a few important mutations are responsible for the differences between the two species, according to Wen-Hsiung Li, a molecular evolutionist at the University of Chicago in Illinois.
"If you look at two species of frogs over 10 million years, you probably won't see a lot of the morphological or behavioral differences that you see between humans and chimps," said Li, who wrote an accompanying commentary on the chimp genome sequencing for Nature.
There are several hypotheses that account for the evolution of human traits. Li believes these traits come from changes in the parts of the genome that regulate other gene activity.
Scientists agree that many questions remain unanswered but the chimp genome provides important clues to understanding what makes us human.

"We're in a very nice intermediate stage of understanding human-chimp differences," said Eichler. "We can't say, This is the difference that makes us human, but we can say, These are the regions of the genome that show a lot of potential and are excellent candidates to do further work on."

Korea Stem Cell Fraud

To the shock of the South Korean nation, Hwang Woo Suk, the world renowned cloning pioneer, admitted to a colleague that his that the majority of his famous paper's data regarding human embryo cloning published in Science earlier this year was in fact "fake."

The journal Science, which has until now consistently supported Hwang in spite of the growing suspicions of the international media regarding the authenticity of the research paper published in May, have not yet publicly responded to today's events.

According to sources Prof. Hwang's confession verified the fact that actually nine of the 11 stem cells referred to in the paper did not actually exist, and were actually invented by Hwang himself with the knowledge of only three others in his laboratory.

According to reports by the media here, Hwang had ordered one of the junior scientists in his lab team to have three original stem cells and DNA fingerprint samples duplicated and then doctored so as to make it look like there were in fact 11 cells that were a success in their research.

All of Hwang's famous breakthroughs in cloning, such as the cloning of a calf in 1999, would come under serious questioning by the international science community.

The reason given by sources published in the media here, for Hwang's faking of data in the Science article, was that he felt pressurized by the science community to get results, since his team had used several hundred donated ova for the research.

In similar research done in 2004, Hwang had succeeded in creating only one successful cell line, despite having used over 200 ova, which lead to criticism overseas for his squandering such a valuable resources.

Other analysts point to the cost of the research to explain Hwang's actions. The South Korean government has invested more than $26 million in his stem cell project and any failure on the part of Hwang's team would have probably jeopardized future investment by the government.

The timing of Hwang's admission of fault to Roh after a month of silence, during which the suspicions of the international science community grew steadily, seemingly corresponds with the beginning of SNU's investigation of the pioneer cloning scientist's data and their request for Hwang to provide evidence of his research.

Another explanation for Hwang's confession today is the request made three days ago by one of his co-authors, Gerald Schatten of Pittsburgh University, to have his name removed from the article. Schatten explained in a letter to the scientific journal that he had received information from an unnamed source that much of the data used in the article had in fact been doctored.

ohmynews

Hwang Woo-suk drinks

Mixing 'Hwang Woo-suk' drinks
Korea Herald 24 dec 2005

A new drinking trend to substitute "poktanju" (bomb-shot) culture has surfaced during year-end celebrations among working people.
Dubbed the "Hwang Woo-suk poktanju," it involves creating 11 drinks and numbering them 2 to 12. Of these, all except No. 2 and 3 are made just with beer with an empty shot glass inside.
The "poktanju" or "bomb drink," is a mixed drink notoriously popular among Koreans, concocted with beer and a shot of whiskey or soju, intended to be drunk in one shot, to get the party started.
The new drinking trend, invented by Hwang-weary working people, is a parody of Professor Hwang's 11 stem cell lines of which all except for Nos. 2 and 3 are alleged to be faked. The empty shot glass represents the alleged "fakeness."
"While it is fun to engage in such parody, a part of us is in shock and disappointment over the allegations that Hwang's work may be fake," said a 40-year-old man.
The culture of drinking "poktanju" arose out of a desire for people to get drunk quickly and open up to each other away from the reserved atmosphere prevalent in Korean workplaces

Dalai Lama watching TV

barbie torture

Why little girls like to torture Barbie
By Nick Foley in London
December 20, 2005 SMH

IF you've caught your daughter mutilating her Barbie doll, microwaving her, or decapitating her, don't be disturbed - your girl is perfectly normal.
Research published yesterday reveals that as girls grow up, they come to hate Barbie so much that many admit torturing and maiming the doll. The toy has become a "hate figure" among seven to 11-year-old girls, who regard Barbie as a "babyish" symbol of their earlier childhood.
Researchers from the University of Bath questioned 100 youngsters about their attitudes to a range of branded products and found the iconic doll provoked the strongest reaction.
"When we asked the groups of junior school children about Barbie, the doll provoked rejection, hatred and violence," said Agnes Nairn, who led the study. "The meaning of Barbie went beyond an expressed antipathy; actual physical violence and torture towards the doll was repeatedly reported, quite gleefully, across age, school and gender."
Dr Nairn said: "It's as though disavowing Barbie is a rite of passage and a rejection of their past.
"The types of mutilation .. range from removing the hair to decapitation, burning, breaking and even microwaving."
The study also found that while boys expressed feelings of nostalgia towards Action Man, girls' attitude to Barbie was hostile.
"The girls almost always talked about having a box full of Barbies," Dr Nairn said. "So, to them, Barbie has come to symbolise excess. Barbies are not special, they are disposable, and are thrown away and rejected."

Barbie in the news

Fulla has the Mid-East doll market covered
By Ed O'Loughlin Herald Correspondent in Jerusalem
December 23, 2005 SMH

Contrasting role models … Barbie and Fulla in Jerusalem this week. Photo: ED O'Loughlin

SHE is the must-have toy this festive season, flying off the shelves. But the season in question is Eid al-Adha next month, not Christmas. Santa Claus means nothing to her.
Fulla, the Muslim doll, is now thought to be the best-selling girl's toy in the Arab world, two years after she first came on the market, displacing her Western rival, Barbie, in shops across her native Levant.
With thick black hair and large dark eyes, Fulla is the physical antithesis of Mattel's blonde, empty-eyed icon of Western consumerism.
Compared with Barbie's improbably pneumatic curves and lanky legs, Fulla's assets are modest, and never officially on display. Although she is marketed with a range of funky clothes, furniture, jewellery and grooming equipment, to avoid offending Muslim modesty, she has no swimwear.
And when she steps outdoors, she hides beneath a white hijab scarf and modest ankle-length coat, or even an all-enveloping black abaya cloak. Like the little girls who play with her, Fulla must learn to lead a double life.
The rise of Fulla, who is skilfully marketed by her Syrian creators, New Boy Toys, has aroused mixed feelings across the Middle East.
Many Arab parents are happy to see a local girl take on and defeat the might of Western myth-making. But some worry that Barbie, with her independent lifestyle and wide range of jobs, is giving way to a new role model who hides her hair and figure and - judging from the slick adverts on Arabic satellite TV - has little to do but shop, hang out with her friends, Yasmeen (suspiciously blonde) and Nadia (a coppery redhead), or pray on her optional prayer mat.
As for romantic prospects, Fulla has no male friends at all, "though she might have angry brothers", as one joke has it.
Fulla's role in shaping expectations is undoubtedly a selling point for some conservative Muslim parents.
"Fulla is one of us but Barbie is still a stranger," says Mohammed al-Sabbagh, a manager at Space Toon, Damascus's leading toy store.
"Fulla is my sister, my wife, my mother. She comes from the same culture. The other thing for me, as a parent, is about what I want for my child. Barbie has a boyfriend and a bikini and so on, which is not our style in the Middle East."
Space Toon has recently been running a special promotion: buy one "outdoor" Fulla and get two cartons of Fulla spreadable processed cheese.
New Boy's Western-style aspirational TV advertising has created a profitable buzz among little girls across the region, who - like their Western counterparts - compete to be first in the playground with the latest spin-off product.
For the vast majority, questions of religion and modesty play no conscious role in their choice of toy. Yasmin Bakr, 7, who comes from a liberal, non-hijab-wearing family in the Palestinian town of Ramallah, has Barbie and Fulla dolls. But if she had to choose between them, she would hold on to Fulla.
"Because she's nice. She looks nice, everything. I like her face so much."
Both dolls are of very similar size and construction, and some are even manufactured by the same subcontractor in China.
So successful is the Fulla range, selling more than 1.3 million dolls at about $20 each, that it has already spawned a Chinese knock-off, Fulah, sold in near identical packaging.
Fulla's connection with Syria - still at war with Israel - prevents formal distribution in Israeli-controlled areas like East Jerusalem, although they can sometimes be found in toyshops there.
Across the city, the three toy stores in West Jerusalem's Malcha Mall do not sell Fulla dolls at all.