I’m hoping and praying that when I return to Australia we will have a parliament made up of a diverse group of female and male politicians, but I fear that nothing has changed. I should look on the bright side; another long torturous federal election campaign is over. There was almost a double dissolution, a budget, lots of pontifimacating about, “jobs and growth,” and eighty billion weeks of campaigning buffoons to endure.
I met a man who reminded me that voting is a privilege. “In my home country I wasn’t allowed to vote,” he told me.
Every night on TV we suffered idiots in suits who protect their mates and do very little to turn us into a clever country. Having watched them run a campaign in 2015, what disturbs me most about the Liberal party male power machine is not their political views but their lack of empathy. I didn’t hear any of them speak about helping their fellow humans in a real way. That’s a motherhood statement.
I learnt a lot standing as a politician in 2015. Don’t call swinging voters swingers at a community forum packed with senior citizens. Why did I want to be a politician? I got ahead of myself and imagined spending taxpayer dollars on homeless people, animal shelters and counselling for women victims of domestic violence. I met David Gonski. A rich banker who lives in Point Piper who actually knows how to fix our education system so it is fair to all kids, and the bastard politicians won’t even listen to him.
If I ever venture into politics again, I’ll start the single mother party. I will be the minister for cramped housing, over breeding and goon bags. If current politicians can rort their way into helicopter travel, when I’m elected every child of a single mum will receive a pony. but maybe I’ll just throw a party. Only smart people who want to save the planet can come. You with me? My slogan: Single mothers like to party. BYO cask wine and Prozac.
Spoken and authorised by Lou Pollard for the Single Mothers Like to Party Party.
The individual whose vision encompasses the whole world often feels nowhere so hedged in and out of touch with his surroundings as in his native land.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I’m so sad about Jyoti, the poor woman who was attacked by six men in India, what a terrible way to die. Jyoti was a medical student, I wonder at the good she would have done in her country had she lived. I hope her death makes us change the world and bring an end to assaults against women. Like the shooting of innocent babies in Connecticut USA, may her violent shocking death make us wake up to change. Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan tweeted, “Her body has passed away, but her soul shall forever stir our hearts.”