10, 9, 8, 7,
6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. It’s time for Peter Garrett to go. Now.
People enter
politics either for the power or the passion, or hopefully a bit of both.
Afforded every possible opportunity and advantage – a safe seat, celebrity
status, easy entry onto the front bench, numerous ministerial positions - Peter
has shown beyond doubt he is not prepared to use his power to implement the
things he once was passionate about.
The excuse
that is trotted out – from sympathetic commentators such as Canberra Times columnist John
Warhurst, who claims Peter needs to be a "team player" in order to
affect change "from the inside" - holds even less water than the
now-defunct Traveston
Crossing Dam.
It can’t have
escaped Peter Garrett’s notice that not only has he sacrificed nearly every
principle he ever held dear, but also he has been betrayed by nearly every
political patron he trusted. That must hurt. Forget diesel and dust. His is a
story of irony and pathos, which sadly, leaves him as one of the more
tragic figures in Australian political history.
The erstwhile
senate candidate for the Nuclear Disarmament Party is now complicit in
expanding our uranium production and selling it to a nuclear-armed state. The
messianic singer who railed against U.S. forces being a “setback for your
country” doesn’t bat an eyelid at new marine bases in Darwin. The political
activist who sneered at those who toe the party line rather than fight for what
they believe in (‘politicians party line, don’t cross that floor’) now lives by
that very creed.
Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard have humiliated Garrett, ignored him,
walked all over him, repeatedly demoted him or shunted him aside (from the one
portfolio he really cares about - climate change) and, grotesquely, have allowed
him to be the public scapegoat for the ‘pink batts’ fiasco and the associated
tragic deaths.
To quote Gary Gray in ‘The Party Thieves’: “For Rudd and his office
to position Garrett as the fall guy was disgraceful, weak, sneaky, unprincipled
and just plain wrong. All along, Peter properly put his objections to the
administration of the program on the record.”
And yet Garrett allows the perception of his guilt in the matter to
remain unchallenged, presumably thinking that he has to “take one for the
team.”
But at what point does repeatedly taking one for the team become
pack-rape by the entire scrum? Acquiescing to the dredging of Port Philip Bay?
Ouch. Approving the Bell Bay Pulp Mill? Ouch! Expanding the Beverley uranium
mine? Uuuggghh. Agreeing to sell uranium to India? Aaaarrrggh. Allowing U.S
forces to base themselves in Darwin? Nooo! Stop!
And that’s ignoring such trivialities as him withdrawing federal funding
from the Australian
National Academy of Music,
which surely must have given him at least one sleepless night?
Either as the frontman of Midnight Oil he was faking it and didn’t
believe in what he was singing about at the time – which I can’t accept – or he
has today abandoned those beliefs in the cause of – what exactly?
“I have protested, sung, marched, written, organised and
campaigned on those things I simply believed were important, not just to me but
to the life of the nation,” Peter reminded us in his maiden speech to
parliament, just over seven years ago. And it was true. Whilst the high point
of his activism was probably the clever ambush advertising for the
Reconciliation movement at the Sydney Olympics, both as leader of The Oils and
as President of the Australian Conservation Foundation, Garrett had become the angry
spokesperson for any number of controversial issues, from environmentalism to
indigenous welfare with a bit of “Occupy the street outside Exxon” thrown in.
Our very own Bono. The great hope of his generation.
Yet the only time recently that Garrett has taken a
strong stance on any issue of newsworthiness is his reported threat to cause a
by-election if, yet again, he were to be demoted by his leader. In other words,
the principle he holds dearest at this point in time appears to be hanging onto
his job. Peter Slipper in reverse.
Rock stars disappoint. One day preaching love and peace, the next up
in court for assault. But out of all the politically-inspired popular musicians,
none has managed to despoil the promise and sentiment of their own work to the
degree Garrett-in-Labor has.
Rewind your memory. To the Oil’s heyday. Whether it be a singalong
at Selina’s in ’78 or an explosive gig at the Hordern in ’87. And recall that
shiver of excitement, that frisson of rebellion, at the drop-out lawyer with
the gangly physique, the awesome voice and the frenetic dance moves, who in
every note and dance step savaged the complacency of mainstream white
Australia, berating us for our subservience to Uncle Sam, grabbing us by the throat
and forcing us to face ourselves in the mirror over our neglect of our Aboriginal
brethren, and flaying us alive for our trashing of the environment. Feeble politicians,
conniving capitalists, evil company executives. They were all there, in a
rogues gallery set to some of the most brilliant rock tunes ever written.
But what happens now? Does Garret simply stay schtum, whither on the
vine and disappear in the wipeout of the next federal election?
Time is running out for Garrett to stand tall. Peter, pick an issue.
Any one will do. And resign. Whether it be over your government’s failure to
genuinely improve indigenous well being, or about the sale of uranium to India,
or the basing of US forces in Oz, or off shore processing of asylum seekers, or
mandatory detention, or your government’s inaction on whaling, or the threat of
CSG mining, or any of the myriad issues you once were so passionate about. Do a
Wilkie. Threaten to bring the whole show crashing down unless you get your way.
Just once.
Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.
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