Paul Tapp
RETIRED cop, grizzled and red-faced from a day on the bright and briny comes into the pub and we greet warmly. The conversation we had that day, more than two years ago now, often pops into my mind.
Current debate on the political influence of religious groups brings that old conversation to the fore. Lot of hypocrisy here. Getting into taboo areas too. But it all boils down to that old adage that what is good enough for the gander should be good enough for the goose.
“That joker who declared he was getting a bit on the side; a WA Federal MP. Had the balls to make it public before the election. Didn’t get up.”
“Yeah, I remember, but dunno his name.Gutsy though. Good on him. Wouldn’t mind a bit meself”
And then we reminisce about the good old days. Him as a cop. Me as a cop reporter. Then I get a little insight into the unofficial modus operandi of the night patrols, so long ago when I stupidly believed I was onto everything of public interest. I always had a suspicion that cops keep dossiers on our pollies. Sort of ‘don’t get too mouthy as we’ve got something on you’ sort of stuff. Nothing too heavy, of course. Little stuff. Who’s up who and who’s not paying sort of stuff. You know. Gossipy little harmless stuff. You know. Paralyze parliament innocent little dossier stuff.
“We’d do a little cruise you know … just doin’ the rounds …”
“Oh right.”
Only half-interested really. Just a bit of pub small-talk.
“Check the rego numbers outside the motels.”
“Oh right … why?”
“Just protecting the patch.”
“Fair enough too … I suppose.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be in the know.”
“Yeh, fair enough.”
“Life is more expectation than surprises.”
“Ancient Chinese proverb?”
“You’d be surprised at this one though. Really surprised.”
And I am. Bloody really surprised.
“Could be coincidence, of course. Two cars, two rooms?”
“Nope.”
An emphatic nope. Christ, just how far does this hypocrite night patrol go?
“You gotta be joking?”
“Nope.”
“Philosophically and politically opposed in every direction!”
“Except the vertical.”
“Straight-laced, personification (a hard word to say after a few tens) of no-compromise global political correctness … you’ve gotta be wrong,” I laugh to the freshly painted rafters.
“Nope.” The headshake is convincing. The eyes reflect the mirth of hypocrisy and knowledge of it. I can understand. The right to know. But is there an equal right to share? Particularly to a retired cop reporter. I daresay he believes so. It’s not gossip. He’s a straight-shooter and always was a fair cop. Really, this is high politics. How naive we are. I think he would expect that in the pinnacle of context, it is important. It’s important to pass it on. Yeah, well thanks. Every time the elected person speaks now, all I hear is hypocrisy, that’s if it’s true, of course.
“It’s true.”
I have forever mused at the outcome if honesty and courage had prevailed as it did in Western Australia. If the people in fact had the right to know. If what goes on behind the motel room door, stays behind the motel room door. Or the people have the right to know. Still outspoken though. Still very effective. But would there be courage if it was an attack on police? Do the files one day get closed? Even when it was opened oh so long ago in political time.
Dunno. Really, dunno.
