In Canberra, deep in the bowels of Parliament
House, a slavering beast strains against its shackles and howls to be let
loose.
Wednesday
morning, the early hours. Trembling hands fumble to undo chains while the
creature is pinned against the wall with a pole extended through the bars. The
wranglers withdraw behind the cell-door as the beast, free, bolts into the
hallway. Disoriented in the strip-lighting’s glare, it slouches toward the
Senate Chamber.
At
first nobody remarks its presence as unusual. Then the Gay-Marriage Bill is
tabled for debate. The monster rears up on its hind legs and, spraying the
chamber floor to warn-off interlopers, begins bellowing obscene non-sequiturs.
You’d
think that would be the end but, darting beneath Penny Wong’s swinging fist and
bowling-over two elderly ushers, our startled golem flees the chamber and goes
to ground. Its handlers find it later in the morning, hunched under a desk and
jabbering incoherently down the telephone to ABC News Radio.
Not
even now, though, is it over. After tranquilising the brute with a blow-dart,
the handlers peel off its Cory Bernardi mask and replace it with another ...
Suitably
subdued, shaky on its almost-human feet, it appears before the Canberra
press-pack. Gripping the lectern with its claws, it wears the face of the
Opposition Leader. Calm enough now to be embarrassed, it inveighs in
half-sentences against “indiscipline” and “freelancing from the front bench”.
It mutters about “political penance” for that greatest of sins – letting the
people know what you really think before
they’ve had a chance to elect you.
Still
not done, the monster stumbles into the House of Representatives and, disguised
as the Opposition and half of the Government, pisses once again on the
Gay-Marriage Bill.
This
is not the first time we’ve seen this abomination. It’s appeared to us before,
in many guises, many masks. It was at the ALP National Conference when the
Prime-Minister engineered a conscience-vote on a bill she knew wouldn’t survive
the politics.
It was Kevin
Rudd, grandly defining climate change as “the great moral challenge of our
generation” then letting himself be talked out of acting on it by party hacks.
It was John
Howard – and, let’s not forget, Bob Hawke – defining desperate refugees as
“queue-jumpers”, and seeking no more constructive means of addressing the
problem than locking them up.
It was on
the front-lawn of Parliament with a thousand heads, waving signs that called
our Prime-Minister – whomever that happens to be – “liar”, and “witch”.
It rants and jabbers at us every day from
talk-back radio and the tabloid press.
I’ve
described a few of its faces, but its heart – its black, vicious, frightened
little heart – belongs to us. We created
this monster. We nurture and nourish it, and we let it loose now and then to
wreak bloody mayhem.
We have it
in us to be so much better. Our
shadow isn’t our body. Despite a few appalling blunders, our history is largely
one of a people striving for a society that is free, egalitarian,
compassionate, and open to any who wish to be a part of it.
It’s not too
late for us. If we keep in mind those ideals – that courage we trumpet. If we just
think a little before we act or open our mouths – especially before we vote –
we can let the beast wither and die, unlamented, in its cell beneath our
Parliament.
This won’t happen by accident.
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