The Ever So Ordinary MP
It is as notorious as the Melbourne weather that the intricacies of social discourse and our own high aspirations toward mutual respect and understanding never seem to coincide. Indeed, our desire for a certain political correctitude so often is thwarted by the public pronouncements of old bigot zeal against migrants and Aborigines.
In the case of the ordinary singular form of MP (I intend not to name names) one may read such pronouncement duly recorded with much fuss and fanfare by the nation's many scribes.
"How terrible it is that an ever so ordinary MP — as ordinary as you or I, a true battler of an MP — should speak so", we are told. "We, of course, cannot agree ... But, while we do not agree with what is being said, we will fight to the death for the ever so ordinary MP's right to say it."
There are those among us who, at least for a time, must unfortunately grin and bear it. This is but a variation of our democracy at work. Then there are those who think it is not a question of what the ever so ordinary member of parliament has to say, but how much the ever so ordinary MP enriches our society by daring to say it.
Then there are those among us — ordinary folk, as ordinary as you or I, apparently — who agree with the ever so ordinary MP, as expressed through polls and talkback radio. In a nation as random and diverse as our own, we learn that there exists a body of opinion which wants it less so.
So be it if it takes your fancy. The migrants will all (the brown and yellow ones, anyway) be sent packing, and the Aborigines — since we cannot send them anywhere — well, the best they can do is merge back with the Dreamtime and quietly die out.
What then would you or I gain? Are we then suddenly assured our heart's desire? Do wages go up or jobs suddenly abound? Are homes any cheaper to rent or buy, or hospitals safer to die in? Now free from their menacing presence are we miraculously better off?
The answer is: No.
You need only look at the flourishing examples about you. Consider those in this vast metropolitan landscape whose faces shine with the very marrow of the land. What ease — what unconcern — what dignity in their station as they laugh at this mock debate while hard pressed labour sweats and grows sick.
It will, I hope, impress upon your mind the necessity of treating the outbursts of the ever so ordinary MP for what they are worth. No matter how much she is encouraged to deflect our frustrations by calling a crowd around her, hers is a cracked and counterfeit position.
To the ever so ordinary MP, all I can say is this: Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!
Dave Riley