Henry Melville
The control exercised by this Government in propping up its administration of democracy is becoming a constant embarrassment as new revelations of incompetence, deceptions, re-telling of stories and reactive plans and responses emerge.
TASMANIA desperately needs some truth-telling in its high offices and perhaps it also needs a public truth teller.
Recent events in Tasmania’s public governance speak loudly of the death of truth and the power of deception detached from reality.
A leading scientist speaks out so strongly about corruption in public governance; so proudly proclaiming himself ‘a whistleblower’ and calling for an independent Commission of Inquiry. It is the latest of a train wreck of deceptions and mistruths on which public governance operates in Tasmania under the guise of ‘accountable’ Government. Only months earlier the state was rocked with the news that its newly appointed Deputy Premier was to be charged by the Director of Public Prosecutions with conspiracy and attempting to interfere with an executive officer.
The control exercised by this Government in propping up its administration of democracy is becoming a constant embarrassment as new revelations of incompetence, deceptions, re-telling of stories and reactive plans and responses emerge.
Matthew Rogers was the then (supremely inquisitive, wonderfully sceptical, larrikin) journalist who coined the term: “The Emperor” for the flamboyant late Premier, Jim Bacon. Perhaps Matthew could now bestow the laurel wreath on the head of his boss, the new Emperor of his self-dom, Paul Lennon, The Emperor of Lennongrad and the Puppet-King of Tasmanistan!
Where are Tasmania’s strong, courageous, whimsical poets and storytellers; where are our truth-tellers, our metaphoricists, our soothsayers?
Tasmania more than ever before needs a Wizard of Wisdom; a Gandolph of strength and vision; a Hans Christian Andersen for the 21st Century.
There is a gaping void in the soul of Tasmania, a huge debt in the collective psyche that screams out in agony for reason and wisdom.
When the true devils of this blessed Isle give up and die in droves — succumbing to an infectious, fatal facial cancer then the portents are not favourable. The gods are no longer smiling on this rich island’s majesty.
That debt of the soul, that denial of truth and that deception is so detached from reality.
We beseech our Emperor to cover up his nakedness and retire to a quiet place to atone for this sickness that afflicts his kingdom.
Our Emperor has no clothes on but his people are too distracted, too disinterested or just too frightened to tell him and his cabal the TRUTH that a lived reality is reflecting.
The certainty is the stench of death and decay and impermanence … it was ever thus … mortals and their grand powers will not last for ever … they cannot hold together.
Lance this boil, let the hot, angry pus come out. When the dominoes start to fall, when the poison is rented from the body corporate, a cathartic cascade of relief will flood over Tasmania!
Do it, Emperor!
