Today I’m frustrated by the weakness of leadership of both the Australian Labour Party and the US Democratic Party.
In both the US and Australia, the upper house conservative rump is blocking the stimulus packages of recently elected leaders with strong mandates. This seems to be largely a way of asserting some sort of relevance in the dark days of minority. The Coalition, however, has been at these tricks for nine months, since they decided to block budget legislation in May last year.
This goes strongly against the democratic principle that those who have most recently faced the electorate and won should be allowed their way with their core agenda. Unfortunately, political literacy in both nations is so low that very few people understand exactly how what is being done is wrong.
From here, the ALP has only one course of action left open to it, with two likely results. They must make the rogue Senators stand on their dignity and reject the stimulus package again, so the Prime Minister can pull the trigger on a double dissolution election. Let the Coalition face the electorate over their quibbling against a popular and necessary economic stimulus. Either the Coalition will be forced into a humiliating backdown, or Kevin Rudd will be returned with a more favourable Senate, more likely to recognise and respect the government’s democratic mandate.
The Democrats are in a similar position. They must have the courage to force the Republicans to actually filibuster them, to stand up on C-SPAN and justify themselves 24 hours a day, rather than meekly retiring from the field whenever they don’t have the requisite 60 votes.
In both nations, vital projects are being held back because of a lack of the intestinal fortitude it takes to accomplish anything in leadership. It’s enough to make you want to strike your colours and switch sides.
Friday, February 13, 2009
An Anecdote
Inspired by Rebecca Traister's story over at Salon, here's a short anecdote.
My brother brought home a dog he had got from someone who couldn't take care of it anymore. It was like a cross between a Scottish terrier and some sort of fighting dog; endearingly fluffy and floppy-eared, but with a heavily muscled chest and legs and those huge jaws, built for pulling down much larger animals. My brother called him Nugget.
He had the most manic, upbeat personality of any dog I've ever come across, bouncing madly up to try and lick hands and faces, puppyishly firing little spurts of urine. To keep him from shooting into the house every time the door was opened, my father put metal bars across the entrance to the porch, but the irrepressible Nugget kept pushing at the bottom bar until he had made a gap to push his broad shoulders through.
Ultimately, however, my parents found themselves living in fear of what he might do. He leapt all over strangers and other dogs alike, and in their constant fear they found themselves unable to tell if it was with affection or ill-intent. Finally they put him down.
I was shocked to hear of it, but ultimately I had been unwilling to take care of him, and no one else was, so what could have been done? Still, I feel a twinge of sadness when I think of that mad little mutt who loved his masters so much he'd push through steel to be a little closer to them.
My brother brought home a dog he had got from someone who couldn't take care of it anymore. It was like a cross between a Scottish terrier and some sort of fighting dog; endearingly fluffy and floppy-eared, but with a heavily muscled chest and legs and those huge jaws, built for pulling down much larger animals. My brother called him Nugget.
He had the most manic, upbeat personality of any dog I've ever come across, bouncing madly up to try and lick hands and faces, puppyishly firing little spurts of urine. To keep him from shooting into the house every time the door was opened, my father put metal bars across the entrance to the porch, but the irrepressible Nugget kept pushing at the bottom bar until he had made a gap to push his broad shoulders through.
Ultimately, however, my parents found themselves living in fear of what he might do. He leapt all over strangers and other dogs alike, and in their constant fear they found themselves unable to tell if it was with affection or ill-intent. Finally they put him down.
I was shocked to hear of it, but ultimately I had been unwilling to take care of him, and no one else was, so what could have been done? Still, I feel a twinge of sadness when I think of that mad little mutt who loved his masters so much he'd push through steel to be a little closer to them.
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