So yeah, Australia went to the polls on Saturday. For a scarily large number of Australians, it is a bit like picking a horse in the Melbourne Cup. For this scary group, the depth of knowledge about the protagonists is akin to the knowledge of general populous about a Cup Day field – zilch, nada, nuttin’.
Most people however, at least know the contenders. They are aligned to one party or the other. They can differentiate between a politician and a brindle pony, or Makybe Diva. Actually not Makybe Diva.
The main difference between Cup Day and Election Day though is in the outcome; the Cup produces only one gallant Cup winner, the election on the other hand…well, it produces people who proclaim to be winners, but actually aren’t.
The other difference is that the victorious Melbourne Cup winner gives a jaunty nod to the adoring crowd as it leads the other noble contenders back to the winner’s stall. It yearns for a celebratory chow down of carrots, a tender hug from its strapper and a refreshing hose down.
The self-proclaimed winner of the election on the other hand, lashes out at the other contenders and alludes to what is the equivalent of a steward’s inquiry. They don’t want to hang around for a more decisive outcome, while the dedicated, polling people grapple with their abacuses until the silly hours. They don’t want to hug anybody, especially a baby. And they probably should have a brisk hose down – with a water cannon.
We got no decisive winner, so it’s a strange thing that the reason for the Double Dissolution Election was to form a clear passage through both houses of the something or other bill… Was it a naughty union bill, or business bill thing, or banks, or was it to get rid of the ABC? I can’t remember. It must have been a secret bill, because I never heard it mentioned.
But, now that the winner isn’t, you know, like a winner, the public get the blame. AUSTRALIA VOTES FOR CHAOS, AGAIN trumpeted one headline. It’s like we, as a people acted in collusion to rabble rouse, or cause the most mischief to Australia – basically – to ourselves!
So we loitered in lengthy lines, scoffed salmonella streaked sausages in brittle bread, ran the gauntlet of prodding party pamphleteers, and struggled with serpentine senate papers, and for that we get lambasted for being recalcitrant voters.
If we are so rotten at voting, then I propose that all political contenders front up at Flemington every three years or so. They could get saddled up with the national debt, be locked into their political barriers and Gallup Poll until they drop. The last one standing can be the winner.