On Monday morning, I was labouring under the impression I had woken up in Muswellbrook, where the rather gaudy looking statue of the blue heeler dog sits on its plinth near the Shell Servo, and where there is often a cloud of coal dust hazing up the horizon, and where eighteen-wheelers pass through (because there's no bypass yet) causing the shop windows in the main street to jangle alarmingly as they leave behind lanolin- and sheep dag-fused clouds of smog, and where you can often hear people saying 'fuck' in all its possible variances (some sentences even incorporate it as noun, verb AND adjective!) as you're walking your dogs past the public housing unit blocks. These aspects of the town are not necessarily appealing, but at least I know I'm making my own choices as I walk my dogs around, and we breathe in air redolent of sheep dags, lanolin, and coal dust. I have the freedom to shop where I please, be it at Coles, Woolworths, Aldi, or a farmers' market. I can call in at the bottle-o and purchase some booze, if I wish. If I wanted to, I could feed a few coins into the Queen of the Nile poker machine at the local club. I actually don't, because I cannot stand poker machines, but it's nice to know I could if I wanted to. I'm fortunate enough to be in paid employment, and have the right to disburse my income in this manner should I so desire. As it happens, I am currently not in a very strong financial position to go boozing it up, or playing the old one-armed bandits (not that they have arms anymore), but if I wanted to, I can do this. If I was solely dependent upon welfare, and happened to have a few bucks left over, I could still do this. This is the free society in which we live.
But on Monday morning, my friends, when I turned on my television I thought I was no longer in my free society. I grabbed my mini fox terrier, and channelled Dorothy from 'The Wizard of Oz' as I said, 'Fergus, we're not in Muswellbrook anymore.' No, my friends. What I was seeing on the television made me believe I had woken up in the sort of dystopian world that Huxley and Orwell were jizzing themselves over. The moronic Liberal government want to introduce a welfare card further afield than the current trials in Ceduna. This card can only be used at some major supermarkets and is not to be used for poker machines and purchase of alcohol. Since when can the government tell somebody how to disburse their own money? Last I heard, poker machines and alcohol consumption were still perfectly legal. What if a welfare recipient prefers to shop at Aldi? Why is the choice being taken away? Are the members of this current government the puppets of major supermarket giants? Think about it; this just might be more than a half-arsed conspiracy theory I've thrown into this blog post for the amusement of my readers. Some op shops and farmers' markets don't have EFTPOS facilities, either. Not only does this prevent a welfare recipient saving some money by shopping there, it has a detrimental flow-on affect to the charity organisations and the small businesses selling their wares through the markets. It's hard enough and demoralising enough being on welfare without having autonomy and dignity removed, and being treated like a criminal. You guys in government have members with snouts in the trough who don't see past your own pig-swill encrusted snouts (yeah, I'm thinking of you, Hockey - telling us all to tighten our belts and expecting taxpayers to subsidise the baby sitting of your offspring indeed!). One of the worse aspects was hearing the talking heads/social commentators blathering and shrieking about it. Prue MacSween squawking, 'What about the rights of the taxpayers forking over the money for them?' Well, excusez mon francais, but SO FUCKING WHAT? You have employees, don't you? You do not have the right to tell them how to disburse their income, do you? Why do you think we have the right to tell a free citizen how to disburse the pittance they receive on welfare?
No, I don't like strange new world in which I've woken up. I want my coal dust choked Muswellbrook back.
Getting back to morning television, why does Sunrise invite female guests who have awful speaking voices (to say nothing of the aggravating viewpoints). My idea of aural hell is Prue MacSween and Pauline Hanson rapping. I wonder if Senator Hanson's views are only made more repulsive by her lachrymose, keening dolphin delivery? 'Oss-staayyy-lee-yans are sick of ref-yew-gees!' Um, what? Oh, you meant 'refugees'. People like Ahn Do, the comedian, actor and artist. People like Ahn's brother Khoa, a film maker who dedicates time to the under-privileged, and who was once Young Australian of the Year (yes, Pauline, he's an Australian now). People like the brilliant Dr Karl Kruzelnicki, who is also of refugee background. People like Deng Adut, a former child soldier from Sudan who put himself through law school and is now a human rights lawyer who works with the Parramatta Community Justice Clinic and assists with giving disadvantaged people access to the legal system. People like Aguek Nyok, a cab driver who helped rescue eleven people from the burning bus fire that killed the driver in Queensland last week - Mr Nyok also being a refugee from Sudan. I am not in the least bit sick of refugees, Pauline. What I'm sick of is your utter bilge and drivel being delivered in your paint-peeling voice. Both your party, and the Liberal government's proposed policy on not allowing people visas even when PROVEN to be GENUINE REFUGEES just completely blows the foreskin from a bull elephant. I'm interested to know if it contravenes our obligations under the United Nations convention on refugees, too.
One good thing, I don't have much access to breakfast television at the moment because my television has died. It gave up the ghost yesterday morning, and I should pay bills before replacing it. After all, no point buying a television if I don't have electricity from which to power the thing, is there? I am admittedly enjoying the solitude, and will this evening challenge my kids to a game of Scrabble.
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