Note: The following was written in May of 2015, after just over a year and a half of Tony Abbott’s serving as Prime Minister. While I’m admittedly a Labor supporter, there’ve been many Liberal politicians who I could respect, if not for their actions then for their decorum, their wit, or their conviction. Not so with Tony Abbott.

Several months later, Tony Abbott was succeeded by Malcolm Turnbull, and I felt a sense of relief that at least some common sense would be at the helm. I knew I wouldn’t agree with everything Malcolm Turnbull would represent or put forth, but I believed I could respect him for those virtues that it seemed Tony Abbott lacked - empathy, diplomacy and sincerity.

That relief soon turned into disappointment, then frustration, and at times it wavered dangerously close to despondence - the kissing cousin of apathy. And then, again, there was a leadership challenge with Scott Morrison taking the helm. And all that I’d previously felt in regards to Australia’s Prime Ministership quickly gave way to horror, despair, and anger. If Tony Abbott had been the rod, then Scott Morrison is surely the lash.

Four years later, in May of 2019 with an election looming, Australia had a chance to turn back the tide of what had been set in motion with Tony Abbott’s appointment. That chance was foiled by what I, personally, believe were underhanded tactics with the allowance of Clive Palmer to run for Parliament, by his own admission to only hinder the tally of votes Labor might receive by funneling his preferences to the tally of the LNP.

Palmer should never have been allowed to run, not while owing his own workers over 70 million in unpaid wages. If the LNP were a party of any integrity, they’d not have accepted preferences from such a man. The fact that the Australian Electoral Commission allowed it, speaks volumes about much needed changes to electoral practices.

Now, at the time of writing in September of 2020, the LNP have proven to be one of the most corrupt, self-serving parliaments that Australian history has ever seen. The indiscretions and scandalous acts that have taken place under Scott Morrison’s leadership are too numerous to mention here. That’s another discussion for every day that he’s still in power and should not be, and to be honest, in line with the literary liberty I took in comparing Tony Abbott’s role to that of a father (as he suggested himself), I’m still at a loss as to what to even compare Scott Morrison to. He’s a loathsome, banal charlatan and it doesn’t go much further than that.

So, for now, in 2020, this is a reminder of what lead us to here, beginning back in September of 2013, when Tony Abbott was sworn in as Australia’s Prime Minister, and set us forth down a very dark and dubious road.

Father Knows Best

In 2002, Tony Abbott was quoted as saying, “If we’re honest, most of us would accept that a bad boss is a little bit like a bad father or a bad husband. Notwithstanding all his or her faults, you find that he tends to do more good than harm. He might be a bad boss but at least he’s employing someone while he is in fact a boss.”

Tony Abbott, as acting Prime Minister, has indeed proven himself to be a bad boss. Also note the term “acting” because, for all intents and purposes, he’s a petulant man-child playing dress-ups on the world stage – his ludicrous performance during the 2014 G20 summit proved as much as he sat there at the grown-up table, churlishly lamenting that his opposition and the public wouldn’t let him have a cookie with choc-chips and a GP co-payment.

The fact that Tony Abbott can so readily excuse “badness” from someone in a position such as a boss, parent or partner implies that these are positions of authority that should not be called into question. They are not. This is just another of Tony’s ill-conceived misconceptions, which are grounded in a not-so-subtle tilt towards the negative in his use of language, something we’ll get to shortly.

The position of a boss, parent or partner is one of obligation, not authority. Yes, there is some measure of authority that comes with taking on such a mantle, but it should be exactly that; a measure, something that is weighed against its purpose, outcomes and repercussions. Authority should not be an unquestioned absolute, it should ideally be only an element of proper stewardship, one that’s tempered with fairness, compassion and well-meaning.

So, let’s strip away the authority part of Tony Abbott’s role and take a close look at his obligations. As the leader of our nation, Tony Abbott has an obligation - a duty of care, if you will - to be forthright, to be honest, to be transparent and most importantly, to act in the best interests of our nation as a whole. He does none of these things.

On those rare occasions when Tony Abbott can indeed claim to have acted with honesty and due diligence, it’s most often either a claim that’s entwined with double-speak and vague ambiguity that relies on loose-interpretation or it’s a cut and dried case of having followed through on a promise that’s grounded only in fear, spite, unfairness and servitude to corporate industrialism.

Tony Abbott is indeed a bad boss, if only for the fact that he sees himself as just that, our boss. However, he’s not our boss. He’s our Prime Minister, albeit an acting one, who holds the position of serving us. His role is foremost one of obligation rather than authority. And again, yes, they are intertwined, but shouldn’t one both compliment and balance the other? Since the eve of the 2013 election, Tony Abbott has blatantly lied, refused to acknowledge such lies, and continues to repeat the pattern to this day.

Tony Abbott wasn't voted in on one single shred of honesty, public service or personal merit. He owes his position to nothing but lies, propaganda, bullying and underhanded favours - and the fact that he can quite comfortably and unashamedly hold such a position of importance grounded in such things speaks volumes about the shallow, self-serving, remorseless monster that he is.

If an employee who’d interviewed for a job position did the same, you’d be well entitled to sack them. If a boss acted in the manner that Tony Abbott has, you would quit. And if you found yourself in the position of being unable to quit, you’d most certainly be miserable.

Here’s where we get back to language and the negativity of such. Here’s where it figuratively hits home and gets much darker… Imagine that Tony Abbott is indeed your father, and just as he implied in the beginning quote, he’s a bad father. A terrible, frightening father, at that.

Now imagine that the following scenarios are how this bad father affects your day to day life with his language, his decisions, his behaviour.

*** Boat People ***
Three houses down from you, there’s a family that’s widely known as being one that’s volatile and fraught with both violent and emotional abuse. Everyone knows it, some speak openly about it, while others tend to sweep it under the proverbial rug. Your bad father falls into the latter category.

One night there’s a knock at the door and you open it to find three young children from this family standing there on the porch. They’re wet, cold and very clearly sad and frightened. They’re telling you that their own bad parents have been beating them so severely that they fear for their lives if they stay. They want help, asking if they can come inside.

You’re not even sure what to say when your bad father intervenes, angrily telling these children that there’s simply no room in the house, something you know not to be true. He continues his tirade at these frightened children, telling them also that there’s not enough food, blankets, etc., and that, furthermore, how dare they have the audacity to just arrive on his doorstep like this. The least they could do is phone ahead, he angrily tells them.

In short, your bad father’s answer is no. No, they can not come inside the house, and nor will he offer them help. The children, disheartened and not knowing where else to go, begin to leave. They’re making their way across the front lawn when your bad father calls out to them and commands them to stop where they are. Your bad father decides that since they’re here, they can wait on the lawn while he decides where they should go.

Weeks pass and whenever you peer out the window, whenever you open the door, there they are, the “Lawn People” as your bad father refers to them. Your father, realising that someone needs to look after these children, has asked a fellow neighbour to keep an eye on them.

Months pass and still, whenever you peer out the window, whenever you open the door, there they are, the “Lawn People”. The neighbour charged with looking after them feeds them only the bare minimum. When they’re sick, the neighbour allows them to speak with a doctor only if they deem it fit. Should others offer concern from the pavement, the neighbour waves them away and even goes as far as to punish the children if they speak to them.

Yet more months pass and there are some days, whenever you peer out the window, whenever you open the door, when you see the neighbour beating these children, just as their parents had. There’s one day in particular, however, when you look out the window and see the neighbour raping one of the children, pinning them to the ground like a helpless, shrieking butterfly upon a corkboard.

You tell your father about what you’ve seen, and he admits that there were some suspicions that this was the case. He also tells you that, no, the children are still unable to leave the yard and nor can they come inside. Nor will he appoint another neighbour to watch over these children.

Your bad father also responds by saying, “Occasionally, I daresay, things happen, because on any lawn you get things that occasionally aren’t perfect.”

You ask your father if he feels any guilt that this has happened.

Your bad father says, “None whatsoever.”

The beatings and rapes continue.

*** The Minister for Women ***
Your bad father has decided that he can do a much better job of being your mother, so he declares himself as such. By this, he implies that any interests that specifically fall into the female gender should be left in his capable hands.

It’s laughable at first, because it’s not like you expected him to frock-up and don a dress or put on some lipstick, but you expected him to at least do something that relates to this role that he’s assigned himself.

But then, as time goes by, it’s not as laughable when you realise that he’s not actually doing anything. All the interests that specifically fall into the female gender, including the abuse of women, inequality of pay and health, none of these things seem to interest your father at all. The other side to this is that your mother’s not doing anything either. She can’t. It’s no longer her place to do so.

On Mother’s Day your father calls a family meeting and informs you all that your mother has done the wrong thing by giving you two biscuits. While, yes, there were two biscuit jars, and yes, she was in fact entitled to give you one from each jar under the previous house rules, she nonetheless shouldn’t have done so.

Even though it was an agreed upon rule of the house that your mother could provide you with a biscuit from each jar, your father believes she didn’t have to and nor should she have. Even though she could have and was allowed to, your father, who doesn’t need biscuits or eat them himself, believes that one biscuit would have sufficed.

You concede to yourself that it’s a fair argument, that maybe you don’t need another biscuit when you already have one. But then, as you all sit there listening to your father, you notice the look in your mother’s eyes. It’s a disheartened look of shame and guilt that grows heavier as your father speaks. He uses words like, “Double-dipping”, “Rort” and “Fraudulent”, all of which imply that your mother clearly knew it was wrong, but selfishly chose to do so nonetheless.

You point out to your father that some of his own friends have long been giving out two biscuits instead of one, asking if they too were fraudulent, double-dipping rorters.

Your bad father laughs and tells you of course not, they were just following the rules of the house, as was their right to do so.

Your mother only lowers her head, still unable to speak at the table.

*** How I Met Your Mother ***
You ask your mother about how she and your father met. It’s not the first time you’ve asked. In fact, it’s a rather periodical question because you often try to make sense of how such a union came to be. There have been many times when they’ve broken up, and just as many times when they’ve gotten back together.

Yet again, you ask why she decided to take him back this latest time around. You hear your mother’s tale about the promises your father made, about how those promises were very quickly broken. In a moment of frankness she even talks of their love-life and your father’s belief that her withholding sex needs to be moderated.

She talks of many things, your mother does, about how your father limits the household budget, while somehow finding money for dinner with his friends. She talks of your cousins, who build cars, and how your father wouldn’t help them with a loan because another friend built cars also and your father didn’t want to intrude.

She talks sadly about the Lawn People, about how your father listens in on her calls, about your siblings whose partners aren’t allowed to visit because they share the same gender. She also talks of your father’s friend, Rupert, and how he vouched for your father’s character, saying she could trust him, that she should welcome him back with open arms.

She talks of how, soon after renewing their marriage, it became apparent that Rupert had owed the family money – a great deal of money, in fact. She also talks of how, soon after the marriage, your father told Rupert to forget about the debt. She mentions this as an aside, a casual regret, but behind the words you can tell that the family could have done with that money.

She talks and she talks and she talks…

Until your father enters the room.

Brow-beaten, shamed and weighed down by the power of language, the perversity of persuasion, it’s then that your mother falls silent.

Amidst the awkward silence, your bad father cheerfully smiles at you both, having clearly heard every sad word.

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