First published in Trespass Mag
Let’s start by stating the obvious – it’s been a big year for Australian politics.
We’ve seen a first-term Prime Minister dumped overnight, welcomed our first female Prime Minister, gone through a one-dimensional election campaign period only to be left hanging for over a fortnight until eventually, Julia Gillard was able to pull together the numbers to head up a minority Labor government and become Australia’s first elected female Prime Minister.
And all that is without even mentioning the wash of Green votes, large number of protest votes, the exaggerated power of a handful of Independents, the election of our first Indigenous Australian, first Muslim, and youngest member to the House of Representatives.
Yes, it’s been a big year. But that isn’t really what I want to talk about. To be frank, I’m becoming just a little bit tired of the whole hoopla, and I’m a self-confessed political junkie. I can only imagine what the more interesting people among us must be thinking – those who worry about more than whether Julia has had her hair cut (and by whom), or laying bets on just how long it will be before we are treated to the sight of Tony in full budgie smuggler apparel.
I jest, of course. But jesting is what I do want to talk about.
Now that the dust has settled and the Parliament is back in the house, I want to take a moment to celebrate the amount of jest involved in our politics. Between witty little tweets to national newspapers finding humour in all sides of politics across opinion pieces, in letters to the editor, and satirical cartoons through to shows like Gruen Nation and Yes We Canberra, the amount of light-heartedness that works its way into our political scene is one of the things I love most about Australia.
We don’t take ourselves, or our politics, too seriously. And that, my friends, is an absolute luxury.
Earlier today I thought back to when I was 21-years-old and living in St. Petersburg, Russia, at the time of a national election. Despite the overwhelming opinion that Vladimir Putin, the incumbent, would be comfortably returned to power, the week before the election saw the country go into a state of nervous anticipation. My neighbours stockpiled water bottles and tinned food. My teachers urged me not to go outside. My Chechen friend packed a bag and kept her passport at the ready in case she needed to make a quick escape. This was all new to me – this genuine fear, anxiety and tension around an election.
I have a similar story from my time living in Bangladesh which coincided with the first democratic elections after a period of military rule. The country went into a state of high alert; I was advised not to leave my apartment, the phones and internet connections were shut down for the day to discourage mass protests, and the streets of Dhaka, one of the most populous city in the world, were eerily deserted.
If I compare these experiences to the carefree night of August 21 where I moved from election party to election party while the election results (or lack thereof) were announced on TV screens between downing glasses of wine and nibbling on cheese, I can’t help but feel incredibly thankful.
It can be so easy sometimes to forget the privilege involved in having the freedom to poke fun at our politicians, to know that even with a hung parliament and political uncertainty, the country went on running, and to know no-one’s life depended on the results.
And that’s something about Australian politics I can never get sick of.
