Political Corrections

with Mungo MacCallum

Rallying the faithful becomes a rant

Labor called it 'Crazy John's Closing Down Clearance Sale', which wasn't bad; but it failed to capture the scale of the event and the enormous set. And then there were elements of the theatre of the absurd: the gigantic Australian flag viciously ripped down the middle, surely almost sacrilegious to an audience of sturdy Coalition supporters dominated by the National Party. And did the rap music, which incongruously introduced the extravaganza, really include the lyric 'rug rat is here'? The occasion, of course, was John Howard's long awaited gala (or should that be galah?) campaign opening, performed under tight security in Brisbane City Hall.

From the outside at least it was more intimidating than celebratory: behind a two metre high wire dense squads of police patrolled a stretch of King George Square which had been cleared of the usual Sunday market to afford them an open field of fire. Invited guests (the general public was, of course, excluded) were checked twice before those who passed were frisked by metal detectors and finally ushered to their designated positions. Inside, an effort had been made to lighten things up; there were cheer squads for various candidates in Chinese-made T shirts bearing silly slogans and grim looking matrons handing out Australian flags; for those who missed out there were fliers to be waved waiting on every seat. But the overall mood remained sombre and even menacing, an impression reinforced by the presence of a lot of very large men in black suits - and they were just the National Party. In all about 800 of the select were admitted, leaving a lot of spare room - perhaps some invitees decided they had better things to do, like hitting themselves on the head with rocks, which was rather the effect it all had on detached observers.

The official bit started with the ministers and other VIPs being ushered in to overloud music and hugely projected Coalition ads. There was much handshaking, as among acquaintances forced to meet more often than they would like. They were introduced individually by Brisbane's Liberal lord mayor Campbell Nelson, who will become the most senior Liberal leader in power in Australia if John Howard loses. Most waved desultorily. Only youth minister Larry Anthony was enough into the spirit of it to flutter his flag like a patsy at an Edna Everage concert.

Peter Costello gave a mercifully brief and quite sharp speech, as if showing those who followed him how it should be done. John Anderson gave a longer and quite boring speech. And then, to a huge build-up, thunderous music and the obligatory standing ovation, in came the man with an inane grin, who was introduced as the Prime Minister, and he shouted at us forever.

It was all on the one level: a sort of subdued angry rant, fretful and constipated, in the tone of a man who doesn't really expect to be believed but hopes that if he says it often enough and loudly enough someone, somewhere, might be suckered in. The first bit was a mawkish tribute to Australia and how it was great and humbling to feel our griefs and share our joys. Then there was a bit of triumphalism, with the usual quota of lies: taxes are lower under the Coalition, we liberated East Timor from tyranny, the world is a better and safer place thanks to the 'Coalition of the Willing'. The clincher was not one that resonated with everyone: only under a Coalition prime minister could the national parliament have been addressed (read: taken over) by the American president and the Chinese president on successive days. A few hardened conservative bottoms squirmed in their seats at that one.

Triumphalism segued into threats: lies about the Labor Party, like Labor will bring back preference clauses and return 100 per cent control of industrial relations to the unions. And of course the big one: interest rates will always be higher under Labor. Interestingly when channel Seven ran the whole thing past an uncommitted audience the worm sagged noticeably at this point. Maybe, just maybe, the big lie is no longer working as well as it used to.

Having done fear, we moved on to greed, and the $6 billion bribe. Even in the heady atmosphere of the time it seemed a bit of a hastily cobbled together hotch potch. The ritual applause from the faithful became patchy, although this may have been due simply to exhaustion: by this stage the speech had already passed the 40 minute mark with no end in sight.

The image that came to mind was, inevitably, that of an Energiser rat. He would reinstate technical training at a point where it had been about 30 or 40 years before. Doctors would be paid more to work at night. Parents could bid for extra money for school libraries. A proportion of childcare could be claimed as a yearly tax rebate. And so on. The ideology was certainly there: in all cases state governments and unions were to be marginalised if not bypassed.

But it was hard to find much economic or social coherence in the cornucopia, just a sort of last-minute, desperate recklessness. Of course, it ended (eventually) with another standing ovation in which there could be detected a large portion of relief. The faithful were then invited to leave by the side doors to avoid a handful of pesky demonstrators. Perhaps only as they emerged shuffling and blinking into the daylight did it dawn on them that they still had two more weeks to go.