Pollies? What a crack-up
Politicians should never be left to squabble alone. Tonight, our two leaders finally managed to get themselves into the same room to bicker about who’s got a bigger stimulus package and whose broadband network proposal is the patchiest. But this only came after they first bickered over how they would do a debate, where they’d do it, what to wear and so on. Finally, they settled on an RSL in Brisbane to have a tame ‘forum’. There wasn’t even any fervour in the dozen-strong geriatric audience… just the smell of brill cream and false teeth grinding in boredom.
This is just one example of what is possibly the most embarrassing democratic election process in the world. There is a glaring lack of inspiration, excitement and substance Even primary school captain candidates make tangible promises rather than ambiguous polly-speak. Coca Cola in the bubblers – yes, please. A live lion for the school mascot, - yes and double-yes. A pledge to cut wasteful spending and reach surplus and move forward and ease the burden and blah blah blah – you lost me when I saw your side parting. In the grandiose US of A, prospective presidents become duelling nemeses in a year-long blockbuster epic. I half-expect the next American election to be directed in 3D by James Cameron with giant blue aliens. Their campaign trails are long, pre planned and thorough. When they plan a debate (and they do, more than two hours ahead), they show up, guns drawn, and they debate. They don’t slink around the country for two weeks wearing an assortment of hats. The US candidates even have sidekicks, to form true superhero alliances. Abbott and Gillard have big ears and red hair, respectively.
And then there are the ads. Labor are filling all the gaps in between Dancing with the Chefs with doomsday omens that announce that should Abbott become Prime Minister he will kick down the door of your house, drink the last of your milk and eat your children. Of course, the Liberals declare that Julia Gillard will dig up all the coal and throw it at cars from atop a bridge spanning the motorway. Not once do they properly explain their policies, in ads or debates. Instead they’re either trying to convince us their rival is in fact Beelzebub, or are weaving around questions with the skill and agility of an oiled-up gymnast. And the issues we do hear about have been on the table for long enough already that we can safely assume both sides of the government aren’t going to do anything about it. Not even Hercules behind the wheel of a bulldozer could push a Carbon Emissions Trading Bill through parliament.
The candidates themselves are partially to blame for this particularly humdrum election. Granted, any world leader looks rather dull post-Obama, but Abbott and Gillard are about as inspirational as a bowl of cold porridge – with no sugar or honey. Ms Gillard made this inspirationally-challenged syndrome embarrassingly obvious when she recently launched Labor’s official campaign, with the slogan “Yes we will!” ‘Will take the American President’s famous and stirring motto and make our own cheap knock-off’ was the extended version, I imagine.
All this means is that come election day, when we all must go in to exercise our democratic right, we have all the motivation of a sloth on valium. Voting simply becomes a chore that ruins a Saturday otherwise spent horizontally on a couch, or cheerfully at the pub. Unlike the Americans, who proudly hold their hand to their chest when they drop their vote in the box – we etch a ‘1’ vaguely towards the paper and dunk it in with the myriad ballot papers depicting various styles of likeness of the male reproductive organs.
Now, I’m not saying we need to be more like America. We don’t need to turn the election campaign into an over-the-top democratic parade and eat deep-fried hot dogs on a stick. We just need a referee - someone big and surly who can plan the debates and forums and appearance in advance, and threaten cruel and unusual punishment should Labor or Liberal’s finest fail to show. We need Russell Crowe, in full Gladiator-attire, to herd all the politicians, even the Greens, into a stadium and tell them they’re not to come out until they start making sense and tell us exactly why, in simple English, why we should vote for them. Or they’re all dead.
And if that doesn’t work, we’ll just do the properly Australian thing and turn it into a drinking contest. My bet’s on Julia.
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