My first and only article so far in Tasmanian Times predictably drew comment especially as I questioned the legacy of the blessed St. James Bacon (Here).
I logged on while on my travels around the state and predictably, some of the Bacon Mafiosi crawled out from under some of their logs (predictably) and others tried to justify the deification of the dead hero but I couldn’t help notice with satisfaction that a number of people agreed with me. And with some surprise, I learned a certain Mr. Barns had pretty much the same view, to name but one, although I’m not sure his reasons were identical, given my political views. And so I say to those who joined his government and made their money, the best of luck and I hope you sleep at night. In his heyday, your former leader would’ve called you lackeys and lickspittles of capitalism.
Nowhere in my previous article did I indicate that I felt that Jim was a particularly bad Premier and to be fair, he was better than some because at least you knew where you stood; either beside him or under his feet, and I have never believed that he would contemplate special work camps for dissenters, an idea that prompts fantasies among certain Federal Liberal parliamentarians of my acquaintance. My principal objection was to the crackpot idea of erecting a statue and I still don’t know where that came from. The good people of Pembroke showed what they thought of the Bacon legacy with the vote for his widow. I suggest that she should retire to enjoy such benefits as she managed to rack up during that time that she was the Premier’s wife. I have no animus towards her and I could fully understand why she wants to keep the light alive but she must realize times have changed.
Before I leave the subject of “Comrade Jim” I note that il capo di tutti capi, Scott Gadd has exercised the finest minds in Tasmanian Times (Here). Rightly so, but at least he is not in a position to intimidate the average person, as when he was on the former Premier’s staff but Jim used to say that he “made” Mr. Gadd as well as Ken Jeffreys and others in the inner sanctum, (I know because I was there) because make no mistake about it, it was not a democratic government except in name. It was rule by the executive and this was clearly understood by the public service and the army of hangers-on. As for policy, they would call it pragmatism or the naked pursuit of retaining power.
Those fine Tasmanian traditions of fine wine, cheeses – of cronyism and deals carried out behind closed doors – were carried on by Bacon’s successor, Paul Lennon. Never has a Premier taken over with an immense reservoir of goodwill and pissed it away quite so easily and quickly but it may be fairly said that subtlety was not his middle name. The main thing was that the scandals and corruption didn’t catch up until Lennon had been in office for a couple of years and since then, it’s been a deluge and I don’t need to run through the events of the past couple of years which have been exposed in the Tasmanian Times and elsewhere. He authorized Honey’s election material but reports of a seat on the board of Gunns’ have not come to anything. From Festung Lennon, with security bristling like his moustache, he appears to keep his hand in with old mates so that he can reminisce and justify himself. I wonder who paid for the security system and how much the government is paying him and what perks he receives in his retirement. The process should be transparent but I don’t know of anyone with the balls to ask the question.
The problem with Tasmania is in a sense one of size and what good Marxists would refer to as the correlation of forces. I’m not a particularly good Marxist so I will say that the Labor Party is no more a party of the working class than it is in the federal sphere. On the other hand, size means that Tasmania is an interesting little laboratory project, which rewards diligent research. For example, it wasn’t until Allison Ritchie was effectively evicted from Parliament (Dial in Allison Ritchie on the TT Search function for all TT stories and links, including to the questions first raised on TT) that I discovered the extent of family relations, with so many people, such as Carol Brown, Julie Collins and so on to say nothing of the most formidable clan Ritchie itself. A friend of mine, a retired first-rate social researcher told me about the most interesting and useful computer packages that can be obtained to map social networks. And let’s face it, Facebook, twittering and all that crap leaves electronic footprints and the social researcher as tracker can join many dots. In the real world, those links are only important when used for a variety of purposes and some of them are extremely strange.
Many years ago at a more public sitting of the court of the Premier, a quick look at the top table revealed that he was surrounded by those who pass for captains of industry in this state; not parliamentary colleagues and hangers-on but the Tasmanian equivalent of the white shoe brigade. These are the people who make it happen or would have you believe they do and I don’t know well they have a funny handshake to go with being members of an elite. I must be getting desperate describing them as an elite when they resembled more like a mafia gathering, all wearing tuxes and for the most part having the gift of being able to speak out of the corner of their mouths, which is normally believed to be God-given to members of what is politely described as the racing industry or profession. Not for them a fag (cigarette) end in the corner of the mouth but a fat cigar to go with the balloon of vintage brandy. But their physiogamy betrays them – furtive, ferret-faced and shifty looking to a man, because since the great female crocodile vanished, they all have dangly bits. Where is (her) Greek villa?
It has been fairly obvious that once the great crocodile himself, (Lennon) stepped down, the campaign for the next election would begin, slowly at first, just like a landslide with the first few pebbles. I suppose some of you recall the pictures in the Mercury of the three young male parliamentary leaders three heads, three suits and one tie – unforgettable. It was not long after that particular photo shoot, outside Parliament House, that the first stones were thrown and the landslide began. They say a rolling stone gathers no moss but when stones start to roll, they take more with them and develop sufficient momentum that sooner or later, it’s unstoppable. Or for the more couth, when stone throwing becomes a shit storm, it’s on with the tin helmets and rubber boots.
Tasmanian politics has gone downhill and there is very little to provide a sense of pride or confidence in our future. And the opinion polling will continue to get worse for the ALP, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Young Will Hodgman has done what needed to be done and that is to gently usher his father to the backbench (Here). It doesn’t mean that we will hear anything less of the old war-horse but the last time I saw him, I came away wondering whether he wanted to die in Parliament House and be carried out feet first. Michael, you will always have respect and gratitude from those of us who know about the effort you have put in as part of your life’s work. I begrudge you nothing for I know a little of what has been done behind the scenes, without fanfare and with a great deal of empathy for the unfortunate. I would not like you to get to the stage, where to use horseracing parlance, it’s time to call for the canvas shrouds. It would be very unfortunate if you were to be returned triumphantly after the next election only to drop dead in the House of Assembly. I would like to see a few pictures of you in retirement, clad in a very nice cardigan, looking out over the Derwent and with all your marbles in the bag. Surely, the Liberal Party should be able to say: “well done, good and faithful servant.” You will be missed but most emphatically, it’s time to quietly exit on your terms.
As for Will, he is a product of the system and certainly could not match it in Canberra but he stands out amongst a pretty dismal looking lot. You now have to convince the voters that you’ve got what it takes. Some of the others are disposable. ”Install a Reen’s” got to go because here is an associate of Erich the unmentionable and the less said about the rest of them the better. I feel genuine compassion for Sue Napier and if her health can’t stand another term, better to quit now than for us to watch a sad decline.
Much as I disagree with him, Nick McKim is by far the best of the Greens and quite possibly the most formidable party leader and unelectable Premier. While this is true that the Greens have shown some flexibility, they are rigid and doctrinaire and far too many of them swallow Gore’s garbage quite uncritically. At least we don’t have to listen to Christine Milne too often. Her voice reminds me of an old-fashioned dentist’s drill – a shrill, vibrating whine. There are even times when she sounds like someone felling a tree and given that she usually hugs trees, that must be a contradiction in terms. And you have to give some of the great one’s disciples credit for being able to lie better than others can tell the truth. If they cannot see the wood for the trees so to speak, than they will remain a veto group, proposing little that is workable and opposing everything that is necessary.
Lastly, we come to the pretender, the boy wonder David Bartlett, who must have thought that all his birthdays had come at once and then suddenly found out, when opening the presents, that the inheritance was basically crap. He has had a chance to put things right by demanding that certain MPs stand down before the next election or at the very least, not seek re-endorsement. He screwed up on that, almost royally. Everyone knew Jim Cox was going and a few words should have been whispered in other ears but they weren’t. David Llewellyn is past his use-by date; Brenton “the worst” is about as useful as a doorstop and it’s time Mr. Polley vacated the Speaker’s perch and moved on but there is a problem or two. He has an on-going love affair with his chauffeured limousine and the trappings of power, especially the smell of new leather in the chamber and is generally credited with knowing where the bodies are buried.
They disposed of Allison Ritchie, a sad loss so one of my relatives in a nursing home says and somehow I don’t think we’ve heard the full story. Using family as a staff member is almost a tradition in Tasmania and why not? At least you don’t have to worry about loyalty. Then they said: “she lied to the Premier!” If that was the real legitimate (in their eyes) basis for removing her, than it should be applied universally and I wonder how many we’d have left. And then of course, we await with interest, the legacy of the Ritchie affair and there’s certainly more to come out of that because Ms. Ritchie is well-connected, as the cut-throats of the Llanherne Left will find in due course.
Meanwhile, as a practice run-up, those delightful TV ads of “Team Bartlett” are just a knockoff of Team Obama – not an original idea in sight. Watch them with the sound off and you could be forgiven for thinking Southern Cross TV was introducing a new team for the six o’clock news. They really have to face fact: the once great ALP is bereft of talent, locked into ideas from living fossils and in public give us all the charisma and attraction a snake oil salesman. When you meet the dear leader Tasmanian-style it’s a bit of a shock. For all the razzmatazz about thumb rings and bicycles it’s a serious letdown to see one looking as devious as a racecourse tout. Yes, he exudes optimism but he reminds me of a third-rate carbon copy of one of his predecessors in the job, a little man from Eaglehawk Neck. The idea of Team Bartlett becomes even more preposterous when you look at the rest of the outfit. If it were an F1 racing team, they’d have three wheels, two gears and no clutch, and by the latter term I mean a mechanical device, not part of the anatomy.
We have had 10 years of Labor in Tasmania and you have to bear in mind that it overlapped the Howard years. I’m surprised that the former PM can be quoted so approvingly by the national newspaper but it would appear that, like them, he hasn’t woken up to the fact that Kevin Rudd and his crowd won the last election. In 10 years, we’ve seen very little in terms of foresight and objectives, let alone policy. I am keenly awaiting the Premier’s opening campaign speech and I believe it will be a tragedy that I shall be overseas at the time.
There’s nothing new and I’ve said before but not in August company and I believe it will be a tragedy that a can of worms has been half-open ever since David became leader and it still stinks. I suppose we will be bombarded with the usual Lennonesque or should that be Leninist crap that only Labor can deliver sound or solid majority government. We’ve allegedly had that for some while and are we any better for it? Not in my book.
Perhaps in due course, the new member for Pembroke will be able to use her forensic expertise and let us know whether inhalation from the new fittings of Parliament does more than produce a mild “high” because old leather or new, the most pronounced side-effects noted are a certain sense of grandeur; being above the common herd and being and acting removed from those who helped elect you. This is most clearly demonstrated by six months of incredible attention to your needs, without doing much and once in office being unreachable and far too grand to talk to anyone unless it’s free or a good lunch is provided. It’s like a company Christmas Party, where all those bastards who treat you like dogshite through the year want to shake your hand and tell you about your value – how well I remember old whatsisname – and about as genuine.
I don’t care what anyone says, cross-party sniping has become worse since the legislative assembly was miniaturized. Time spent in the visitor’s gallery is well spent but don’t take the kids unless they are over 18 because parental guidance is mandatory. If you keep up with the looks as well as the words hurled across the chamber, they show us that it is more of a bear-pit than a circus. Of course, there is some acting for the TV cameras but the debates can be quite vicious and highly personal. There are supposed to be Speaker’s rules but when the man in the chair is from a political party rather than being neutral, what else can you expect? Question Time is an exercise in evasion and I have yet to hear the Deputy Premier answer a question directly; there’s always the windup, then the derogation of the questioner but she’s no different to the others.
Then there is the question of the running sore on the body of the Labor Party in the form of ex-Deputy Premier Bryan Green – just lurve the looks, the hair – all so suave. He can run around telling everybody that he was innocent because the DPP declined to take him back to court, reasoning quite rightly that a conviction was unlikely because after all this is Tasmania and Green is a mate and the ALP looks after mates or at least that’s what it used to do but now you have to be a real mate. And to prove it he’s a regular on ABC radio, where he can practice duplicity without much in the way of a challenge. The bunch of mischief-makers and saboteurs who knifed Allison is praising the preening Bryan Green, who, these days, is thoroughly enjoying himself in several little jobs that the government has tossed his way. Instead they should’ve been asking for his head in a bucket but being a frequent visitor to the Northwest, I see there are so many people out there who think he’s done no wrong so he’s bound to be re-endorsed and probably reelected and a contender for the leadership.
The ALP is quixotic about its treatment of former members, especially parliamentarians. The Party didn’t do much for Paula Wriedt except screw up matters and now her father sits with his temper frayed and festering as his daughter, the potential first female ALP Premier of Tasmania scrabbles for publicity. (Hi Michelle, Lisa) Call me a cynic but it’s far too early for Ms Wriedt to hit the trail on behalf of Beyond Blue, which raises the rather intriguing question of whether it was at the invitation of Jeffrey Gibb Kennett. This was the brutalist right-wing sometime Premier of Victoria; the man who ruined the Victorian economy and gave a new word to the English-language (being jeffed from the verb “to jeff,” which in lower-class language means to be screwed). And you don’t go on the fire hydrant’s radio show and bag nurses – at the wrong hospital – absolutely no one believes a psych case and you’d better believe it. Paula – stay away from the press – they’re not friends or mates. The last Sunday Tasmanian effort was gruesome and while it doesn’t rate with the weekly glossies (“Danni – I lurve my new boobs” or a rival rag “Danni – l hate my new boobs”) does the public want to know about her new squeeze or “Chauffeurs I have shagged?” No girl, take time out, get help and shut up!
Back at the Centre Court, the man in the hot seat has turned out to be something of a dud. True he’s photogenic but he’s not the man to talk the talk and walk the walk and it’s doubtful whether anyone could take his place and lead the Labor Party this close to an election. Next March will come round very quickly enough and when people queue up at the polling booths, there will be a great deal for them to remember including the stupidity and financial recklessness associated with trying to build a new hospital on the waterfront; the railroads which have demonstrated once and for all that they should be in public hands, not private and that the whole business of privatizing infrastructure was a massive con but it’s unfair to blame Sturges because TasRail is a typical outcome of a misunderstood and fallacious adopted American free-market doctrine. Because the duty of the CEO is to the bottom line, TasRail has had little or no maintenance on the tracks, and the rolling stock, including the engines is only fit for the scrapheap, with those in slightly better condition being consigned to the Railway Museum. Sturges could be stuffed and mounted as part of the exhibit because he’s not much good for anything else.
I looked up and the origins of the statement that “the buck stops here” and apparently that is what a former American president had on his desk. America is a big country and I guess the desk was big and so to the sign so you probably need a magnifying glass in the executive building. Dear little David and his Muppet deputy – what a delightful couple. They should enjoy the rest of the term of this government because there is no way known that the little man can call for and receive government in his own right. They don’t deserve it because they have shown crass ineptitude and there are more snakes in the grass waiting for them. They had better find a quick way of decently retiring Jack Johnston. It’s obvious he’s a mate, like his predecessor; like Lennon and Green. If the DPP was a half-way decent pitcher, at least a couple of them would be struck out and doing time – so completely and comprehensively disgraced that they would not dare show their faces in public, that is unless the stocks and the pillory are brought back. That’s a thought – look at the crap on TV
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Despite the triumph of Vanessa Goodwin in Pembroke the Liberals are not in position to form a majority government and if the current opinion poll figures hold, we will have a hung Parliament and that may be the path of salvation. But the big stumbling block lies with the Greens. They take no prisoners, adopt non-negotiable positions on so many issues, together with some policies, which are not generally popular and that means that we will have another election inside two years and by then, the Liberal Party could well be in a better position. Between now and the election we can be expected to be bombarded with advertisements telling us just how good our government is and why it should be reelected as a majority, especially as it’s done such a wonderfully good job with the economy. For anybody dallying with that idea, take a look at the candidates all parties are fielding – it’s a bloody disgrace. The fundamental weakness lies in the system and our mini Premier will not do the right thing and expands the legislative assembly and even if he did, there is no guarantee that quality candidates would come through – just more of the same from those who brought you the trough for mates.
Over the past decade, this state has started to stink. It smells more and more like Queensland under Joh and more recently Beattie, New South Wales under Never Wrong, South Australia and Western Australia under people who appear to believe that it is their sworn duty to govern in the interests of big business and bugger the electorate. Leaders are thrown up to govern in the way we are being governed and the tragedy is that Paradise Island will continue to be dominated by the cut it down, dig it up, chip it, pulp it and flog it, then ship it out at cut-price rates mentality. When I see our little Premier standing next to the Prime Minister and waving a fibre-optic cable, I know damned well I won’t be here to see it despite promises. As they say, promises are made to be broken and our politicians have turned it into an art form. What a pity it can’t be exhibited in art form and the public charged, I’m sure it would be a nice little earner. There would be no need for a pulp mill or Ralph’s Bay.
One last thought – we need an ICC with teeth and now! Far too much has been done by those who have grubby hands on the levers of power. The only problem is to find the right people for the job – whoever you approach is related to a someone being investigated or a mate.
