In 1938, Australian waterside workers at Port Kembla refused to load pig iron onto the steamship Dalfram, destined for Japan, fearing it would fuel weapons production in the Second Sino-Japanese War. Their stand, met with hostility from then-Attorney General Robert Menzies, earned him the enduring nickname "Pig Iron Bob" for prioritising trade over moral and strategic concerns. The workers' fears were not abstract, they saw the pig iron returning as bombs, potentially aimed at Australia itself, which it soon was. Menzies is no great nationalist hero, but exactly the opposite, an early version of the type political leaders who wouldseek to destroy Australia later in the 20th century and now.
Fast forward to 2025, and Australia finds itself at a similar crossroads. The ghost of "Pig Iron Bob" looms large, not in a single leader but in a society and political class addicted to short-term economic gains, blind to the long-term threats to national security and sovereignty. Today's Australia is a nation of Pig Iron Bobs, flogging off its resources to communist China, with little regard for the future, led by politicians who see no further than the next election cycle.
The Dalfram Dispute was a clarion call. Waterside workers, led by Ted Roach, stood against exporting pig iron to a militaristic Japan, fearing it would strengthen an imperialist power with designs on the Pacific, including Australia. Menzies, backed by the Lyons government, dismissed their concerns, insisting that foreign policy was the government's domain, not the workers'. His heavy-handed response, threatening the Transport Workers' Act to break the strike, cemented his infamy. Yet, the workers' resolve forced a partial victory: after 11 weeks, the government quietly agreed to halt further pig iron exports, proving that principled resistance could shift policy.
Today, the parallels are uncanny. Australia's economy is tethered to China, its largest trading partner, with iron ore exports alone worth $125 billion in 2020–21, accounting for 74% of merchandise exports to China. The push for "green iron" to support China's net-zero goals by 2060, as highlighted by economist Ross Garnaut, mirrors the 1938 trade in raw materials. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese's recent meetings with Chinese steelmakers to promote green iron exports echo the short-sighted pragmatism of Menzies' era. Just as pig iron fuelled Japan's war machine, green iron could bolster China's industrial and military might, potentially at Australia's expense. The question is not just economic but existential: are we trading away our future for immediate profit?
The Dalfram workers acted on principle, risking livelihoods to protect national and global interests. Modern Australia, however, seems to lack such conviction. From boardrooms to parliament, the focus is on "flogging stuff off," iron ore, gas, coal, to communist China, regardless of consequences. This is not the fault of one leader but a systemic failure. Our society is geared toward extraction and export, with 82.9% of Australia's iron ore exports in 2020 going to China, a nation whose assertive foreign policy and military buildup raise red flags. Leaders like Albanese, likened to a modern "Pig Iron Bob" in X posts, are accused of repeating Menzies' mistake by prioritising trade with a potential adversary.
This mindset stems from a political culture obsessed with short-term wins. Australian leaders, whether Labor or Liberal, govern for the next election, not the next generation. The China–Australia Free Trade Agreement (ChAFTA), in force since 2015, has driven economic growth, with $212.7 billion in goods and services exports to China in 2023–24. But this prosperity comes with strings. China's trade coercion, tariffs on barley, wine, and coal when Australia challenged its actions, shows the risks of dependency. Yet, instead of diversifying markets or investing in self-reliance, Australia doubles down, betting its economic future on a single, geopolitically volatile partner. It is setting itself up to be smashed, come the US-China war.
The obsession with immediate gains blinds Australia to long-term threats. China's net-zero pledge by 2060, reliant on Australian green iron, is framed as an economic opportunity. But what if this strengthens a regime whose strategic ambitions, evident in its Pacific influence and military posturing, could undermine Australia's sovereignty, what remains of it? X users warn of history repeating, with Australian resources potentially fuelling China's "green navy" to dominate the region, ending democratic freedoms. The Dalfram workers feared Japan's expansion; today, similar fears about China are dismissed as alarmist, yet the strategic parallels are stark.
Australia's defence spending, at around 2% of GDP, lags behind the 3.5% suggested by analysts like David Llewellyn-Smith to counter regional threats. Instead of fortifying national security, leaders prioritise trade deals and renewable energy exports, assuming economic ties will deter conflict. This echoes Menzies' appeasement of Japan in 1938, a policy that failed when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor three years later. The Dalfram Dispute showed that workers, not just elites, understood the stakes. Today, the public's unease, voiced on X and in polls, suggests a similar disconnect between citizens and leaders.
Llewellyn-Smith poses a stark choice: align with liberal allies like the US, boosting defence and upholding democratic values, or risk becoming a "Chinese vassal state" with a one-party system, social credit scores, and "Pilbara labour camps." While hyperbolic, this reflects a real dilemma. Australia's reliance on China for 82.9% of its iron ore market leaves it vulnerable to coercion, as seen in 2020 when China targeted Australian exports like coal but spared iron ore due to its own dependency. If China develops alternative sources, like Guinea's Simandou project, Australia's leverage could vanish, leaving it economically and strategically exposed.
The Dalfram workers saw pig iron as a moral and security issue, not just a commodity. Today's leaders, however, treat iron ore as a mere economic asset, ignoring its potential to fuel a rival's power. This myopic focus risks Australia's long-term survival. Without diversification, robust defense, and a commitment to liberal values, Australia could slide into dependency, sacrificing sovereignty for short-term wealth. The Dalfram Dispute ended with a government promise to halt pig iron exports; no such resolve exists today.
Australia needs leaders who see beyond the next election, who value survival over profit. This means investing in defence, 3.5% of GDP is a start, diversifying trade to reduce China's stranglehold, and fostering industries like green steel domestically rather than exporting raw materials. The Dalfram workers showed that ordinary Australians can force change; today, citizens must demand accountability, questioning trade policies that jeopardize security. If we continue flogging off resources without strategic foresight, we risk not just economic loss but the erosion of the liberal democracy that defines Australia.
The ghost of "Pig Iron Bob" is not one man but a mindset, an entire society chasing short-term gains at the expense of its future. The Dalfram Dispute was a warning; 2025 is another. Will Australia heed it, or will it sleepwalk into a world where its resources build the communist Chinese empire, leaving Australia a vassal in its own land?