Longneck
February 2013
Fence-sitting: the new radical
These days, politics imitates sport, which imitates Beyoncé lip-syncing the national anthem at Obama’s inauguration, which is more or less why I’ve come over all let’s-change-the-world and have decided to stand as a candidate in the federal election (assuming I haven’t passed retirement age by September 14).
The nice folks at the Electoral Commission have sent me a ‘How To Win At Democracy’ Fact Sheet. I’ve been memorising my lines in the shower (from where I intend to give all my press conferences): as an audacious, tough, visionary, faintly belligerent leader-in-waiting who instinctively knows what makes our espressoed, tree-stacked, coal-lined country tick, I demand your support. You will vote for me or I’ll … I’ll …
I’m yawning already. Confected rage isn’t my thing, except when I’m sitting on the couch with a glass of red, trying to fathom why the ABC bothers to get Kerry O’Brien to introduce episodes of ‘4 Corners’. Still, I’ll give it a go. As Kevin07 would say, it’s high time that I rolled up my sleeves and got on with the hard work of hectoring the country. Here’s Core Promise #1: I will insult, with senseless venom, a minimum of one person per day for thirty days. By election time, I’ll be humming along at a smooth ten slurs a day. It’s okay, though, it’ll be non-core abuse, forgotten the moment I utter it.
Invective alone won’t get me to Canberra. I need to rebrand … but I’m just not sure who or what I’m supposed to become. I should get my nostril hair trimmed. Obviously. I suppose I’ll need a T-shirt slogan, something like ‘PatrickFantastic’ or ‘Patrick13: not-quite-Green, rarely seen’. Maybe I should go the whole hog and change my name. I wouldn’t mind being Eddie McGuire for three or four years, except that voters might mistake me for Eddie Obeid (hang in there, Eddie, innocent until proven guilty, or so the story goes). Maybe I should go for something more reliable, like Ned Kelly. Or Sir Donald Bradman.
I’m not sure which seat I’ll run in. It’s not as if I have to live in the electorate I represent (do I, Julia?). I might settle for Forrest in WA because apparently Margaret River ‘is the place for indulging many passions’. Look out Nola Marino MP, I’m coming for your job. In a genial and non-confrontational way.
I suppose I’ll need some policies. Two or three should be enough (it’s a long campaign but not that long). Okay: I promise to introduce on-the-spot fines for any public figure who says ‘What the Australian people want…’, with repeat offenders forced to watch one-day cricket. I undertake to ban the writing, distribution and reading of Media Releases. And I will introduce a private member’s bill limiting political donations to the price of a cup of coffee — let’s say $3.50, with requests for additional shots, soy milk or single origin organic gold-dusted beans to be made to the Federal Police.
I’ve developed a sophisticated election strategy: if nobody loves or hates me, if I’m ineffectual, then all the other candidates will preference me. I’ll win by default. The media will lap it up, nicknaming me ‘The Accident’ or ‘The Steve Bradbury of Australian politics’. But I’ve watched super-slow-mo of Bradbury’s skates flinging around the ice during that gold medal race. He planned the whole thing. It took genius and nerve to sit so far back while the rest of them fell over.
Winning Forrest is not enough. I crave the balance of power. And not just on the floor of parliament — the anti-politician-politicians have already been there, done that. I plan to insert myself at the precise centrepoint of 22.9 million Aussies: men, women and children, fat and thin, Christian and assorted heathens.
If you think splitting the country into two perfect halves sounds impossible, have a little faith in democracy. Forget the crossbenches: I’ll build a white picket fence on the grassy knoll outside of Parliament House. I’ll sit on it day and night. If anybody wants to chat — no lobbying allowed! — they’ll have to sit beside me, in plain sight. I’ll have no idea what I’m doing, or why, or how, even after I’ve done it. Vote 1 for indefatigable indecision: it’s the new radical.
TAGS patrick allington
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