Bitch Fight: Just Abolish The Australian Of The Year Award

INTERNECINE BRAWLING over an elitist, increasingly divisive award is not only unedifying, but a symptom of the entitlement complex of the Left and an object demonstration of why the bauble must be abolished. The 2016 Australian of the Year is a poor, undeserving choice. Recent predecessors and pretenders are no better. Far from recognising excellence, it has become a prized trinket of social engineers. Australia will be better off without it.

To some extent, I have been beaten to the punch by one of my favourite conservative columnists — the Daily Telegraph‘s Miranda Devine — but whilst Miranda has covered some of the ground I wanted to address (and you can read her excellent piece on the farcical 2016 Australian of the Year award recipient here) the subject is still worthy of discussion.

But before we start — and I have to be careful how I relate this — I have a story to share.

Many years ago, I knew an individual who was (and it’s the only way to put this) an attention addict; everything was a drama, or an acting-out of fantasies, or — most usually — she was the victim in some conspiracy of the universe against her; unable to accept or respect authority (unless it pandered to her), unable to hold down a job without abusing her employers and/or starting highly visible relationships with male colleagues, this girl is probably the most self-destructive individual I have ever met, although I should add that her wanton behaviour was carefully and deliberately contrived to achieve the maximum attention and sympathy possible, as widely as possible, and from as many people as possible.

Fail to gasp in sympathy and wring your hands in a suitably obtrusive fashion, and you were booted. She wasn’t looking for friends, she was looking for a cheer squad, the members of which were invariably referred to as “the beautiful people.”

This person was fond of male company — not that there’s any harm in that — and was “quick off the mark,” so to speak, with first dates almost invariably ending up in bed (and those around her regaled with lurid accounts of her adventures at every turn). Whilst it does not become us to judge, the reason I note the very high number of partners is because it was accompanied by a very high number of accusations — rapes, stalking, other predatory behaviour, assaults — that never led to criminal charges despite the fact Police were kept busy attending to her complaints.

Eventually, one of these men evolved into enemy #1.

Fast forward about ten years (omitting, deliberately, much of the information that could identify her), this individual made something of a career out of her tale as a domestic violence victim; confronted on at least one occasion that I know of over the decision of Police not to pursue charges in relation to any of her allegations, or on account of the total lack of any medical proof of her story, she made attack her defence — and became abusive. The Police had been wrong. Her medical records were destroyed in a flood. And of course, the individual who had confronted her was screamed at and called…well, all kinds of things. The bottom line: she said what she said, and therefore every detail of her story was true.

(And no, it wasn’t me who confronted her. I just heard about it afterwards).

Never mind that a cursory following of it in the press, over a period of years, was sufficient to identify a progressive development of that story, and ongoing embellishment of key details in it.

Remember, there is no judgement here. But this is an individual with a known history over decades of exaggeration, dramatisation and fabrication of life events, so it came as no surprise that when disgraced wellness blogger Belle Gibson was outed a year ago as a fraud, this person panicked, announcing to her inner coterie that all of her domestic violence work would have to stop as she “had had enough of it,” and reportedly destroying the manuscript for an autobiography that (unbelievably) was set to be published by some ultra-feminist wimmins’ network that had clearly decided it could cash in.

An attempt to blow the whistle on her, in the wake of Gibson’s humiliation, fell flat: the man she had made a fortune and cultivated a cult following from maligning (but never naming) refused to speak to one of the journalists who exposed Gibson as the fraud she was.

The reason I start with this ostensibly inane anecdote is because last year — when domestic violence survivor Rosie Batty was announced as the Australian of the Year — it was reported to me that the mother of all tantrums was thrown by the individual I have just told you about within her closed circle of confidantes. She should have been Australian of the Year. Her work on domestic violence was “better” than Batty’s. Her story was “more compelling” (seriously) than Batty’s. And it seemed, standing on the outside and observing from well beyond arms’ length, that she realised her opportunity to be a national “hero” had been usurped by Batty’s appointment: for the past few years, the Australian of the Year award has been a march through the ranks of minorities, the oppressed, the marginalised, the hard done by. But the odds of a second domestic violence identity receiving the award in rapid succession to Batty would seem remote. All that hard work at profile building and greasing up to influence shapers, on the part of the individual in question, had been for nothing.

Seriously, folks, if you’re determined to be “a star” and prepared to be a victim, a convincing story and a fair amount of worn shoe leather is all it takes to get this close to being declared a national celebrity on Australia Day.

And it seems that comparably bitchy recriminations have erupted this year, with transgender military identity Cate McGregor apparently similarly miffed at not being named Australian of the Year herself; the Fairfax press is carrying a story that notes that despite subsequently apologising (who could fail to be convinced of the sincerity of that?), McGregor lashed out at the appointment of her former boss and former Head of Army David Morrison as a “weak and conventional choice” and — in an interview with (apparently prominent) gay and lesbian magazine Star Observer — declared that the National Australia Day Council Board “did not have the courage to go with an LGBTI person.”

In other words, with her.

“I think I’ll die without seeing a trans Australian of the Year and I think that’s terribly sad,” Fairfax quoted her as saying. You can read the rest of the article here.

I’m sorry, but having a sex change does not entitle you to be named Australian of the Year. I don’t care who you think you are. But lest anyone think this is just another isolated anecdote, we’ll go further.

In 2014, Adam Goodes couldn’t understand why his “stand” against a 13-year-old girl at a football match elicited universal condemnation from much of the football public, and the wider Australian community; last year, the Chardonnay drunks and finger shakers tried to move heaven and Earth to have Human Rights Commissioner Gillian Triggs lined up for the 2016 award, blissfully oblivious to the servile partisan bias of this known hardcore socialist in writing a report that highlighted the child detention debacle that occurred under the Gillard government, but sought to apportion full blame for it to the ongoing Coalition administration that had overseen the release of 90% of the kids by the time it was released.

And this year, of course, we’ve been lumbered with Morrison for twelve months, gifted — as the award seems to confer — a full year in the public spotlight on a free soapbox of media exposure to advance whatever social causes he cares to champion, despite not being elected to any political office and without any tangible base of support (or goodwill) among the wider populace. The Australian Republican Movement probably couldn’t believe its luck when Morrison’s first act was to call for the monarchy to be abolished.

Everywhere you look these days lies some left-wing idiot — revered by the chatterati and elevated to celebrity by a fawning media pack — just waiting to shake their fingers and “set” the national agenda; for the most part these people have no public accountability, are unelected, and are free of any restraints of accountability, circumspection, or context.

Unfortunately, a parallel class has also emerged, comprising glory seekers, professional victims, or those who simply feel entitled to the acclaim they believe the world “owes” them: Gibson was one such creature; the regrettable individual I alluded to earlier is another; and the slew of unmasked “wellness” gurus in Gibson’s wake illustrated that they were and are far from isolated cases.

Some years ago, I knew of a gentleman who attempted to engineer appointment as an Officer of the Order of Australia for himself to bolster his case for Liberal Party preselection, and someone whom he thought supportive of the scheme tipped off the Office of the Governor-General (which administers the awards) to the plot. Needless to say, there was no award. But where there is one, there are usually others just slithering around in the woodwork undiscovered.

In past times, the Australian of the Year — even if you disagreed the choice — was someone who had genuinely achieved something in the previous year.

There were entertainers, like John Farnham and Dame Joan Sutherland; sportspeople like Lionel Rose and Robert de Castella; eminent scientists and physicians like Ian Frazer and Macfarlane Burnet, the latter also a Nobel prize winner for Medicine; entrepreneurs, artists, Aboriginal leaders and judges — and many others — cumulatively constituted a representative, if evolving, cross-section of the very best in Australian achievement, endeavour and excellence.

Now it seems the award has been hijacked by the finger shakers and the Chardonnay swillers and those determined to talk Australia into the ground — with an insidious code of purportedly superior socialist doctrines to roll out over the top of it at the ready.

Now, it seems, becoming Australian of the Year isn’t just recognition for something you’ve done, but a licence to be “an ambassador” — and to advance whatever socially trendy views you please, knowing every word you utter will be dutifully be reported and broadcasted across the length and breadth of the country until the rest of us are fed to the teeth hearing about it.

The award is only open, mind you, to fully owned subsidiaries of the socio-political Left: nobody connected with common-sense conservatism is suitable. Heaven forbid that a sporting identity should get the nod. Or an entertainer? These days, the chattering elites would frown upon anything less than some scion of the fine arts that wouldn’t exist without ridiculous taxpayer subsidies to prop them up.

As for the frauds, award chasers, glory seekers, professional victims and everyone else drawn to this arbitrary bauble like flies to a turd, they can be dismissed with the contempt they deserve (and Cate McGregor, that includes you).

To be sure, I’m vehement in my condemnation of domestic violence; I have no particular problem with LGBTI people per se (unless individual ones are just not nice people); I don’t condone racism; and I have the utmost respect for Australia’s armed services.

But with the exception of Batty, there is no compelling argument to justify any of Goodes, Morrison, McGregor or Triggs even warranting consideration as Australian of the Year, let alone being given the award.

The point is that by virtue of the flawed selection process (which Miranda spelt out in her article) the Australian of the Year award is yet another fine Australian tradition that has been hijacked by the Bollinger set and open only to the kind of people who say what the Bollinger set thinks they should say.

I don’t know about the rest of my readers, but I’m just about fed up with being told what to say, or do, or think — and I don’t need cookie-cutter mouthpieces being designated as the best example of Australian citizenry to add some perverse aura of authority to the bullshit they peddle.

There’s another issue here, too: at what point is the silent majority — pushed aside for the preferential treatment of minorities under Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard, and (if anything) even less central to the national agenda now — going to simply snap, and make it brutally clear they have had enough? It mightn’t be a pretty sight.

Balance in all things. But ordinary white, Anglo-Saxon people are the most discriminated against group in Australian society. By governments, so-called “thought” leaders, and through insidious mechanisms like the Australian of the Year award, those who don’t fit one minority or another are being sent the clearest signals imaginable that their values and aspirations actually count for nothing.

This isn’t a problem that can be resolved at a stroke.

But in the context of the discussion at hand, I think the Australian of the Year award has become a bastardised and jaundiced concept that invites ridicule, not respect; it attracts pretenders who seek to game the process — just like the Order of Australia awards do — and to now be told that a mediocrity from the defence forces whose instinct is to advocate for a republic rather than for the betterment of the lives of returned service personnel and their families, or who thinks parroting about gender equity from a socialist song sheet will somehow impress rather than insult the millions of decent people in this country who aren’t sexist or racist bigots, is officially the best citizen of Australia this year is just one fait accompli too many from the sneering, snickering Left.

The rest of the country’s social ills might be an impossible conundrum, but this one isn’t.

Just abolish the Australian of the Year award. Shut it down. It no longer serves its intended purpose. The only people who will miss it are those who have manoeuvred themselves into a position from which dictating its appointees — and their agenda — has become virtually unassailable.

Frankly, we’d be better off with no award than having the likes of Morrison, McGregor, Triggs, Goodes et al running around the place lecturing to us.

And really, given the degenerate state and the farce it has been reduced to, would anyone really miss this award when it is gone? I think not.


Racist Garbage: Frankly, Adam Goodes Can Go To Hell

NAUSEATING finger-shaking over football crowds booing Sydney Swans player and 2014 Australian of the Year Adam Goodes hit a disgusting new low this week, with media railing against “racist” slurs on Goodes, Twitterati stating #IStandWithAdam, and the AFL making a typically vapid stand on racism in his name. Goodes chose to humiliate a young girl, making her a national target of vilification. He can go to hell if he resents the fallout.

One of the biggest problems with the compassion babblers and finger shakers and their cohorts in the politically correct bleeding heart bullshit industry is that they lie in wait, like an ambush party, just itching for an “issue” to appear so they can punch their “values” down the throats of the rest of the population: and when such an “issue” inevitably materialises they run off half-cocked, missing the point, and arguably doing far more damage than the “issue” they claim to be standing on does in the first place.

It’s become a modern retort against these people that one of the things they do is to start a hashtag — a tool for grouping like-minded comment and output on social media site Twitter — and the most recent misguided, factually incorrect, politically motivated example of it was the cretinous #IStandForMercy campaign, which purported to advocate for executed Bali Nine filth Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, but which instead amounted to no more than a fictitious but savage personal and political assault on Prime Minister Tony Abbott and, by extension, his government.

Now, they’ve latched onto the fact that football crowds over the past year or so have shown an increasing tendency to boo Sydney Swans player and 2014 Australian of the Year Adam Goodes — and as usual, the noisy, visible campaign they have engineered very conveniently ignores the reason for it, which has nothing to do with racism at all: just the fact that, to put it bluntly, Goodes is a hypocrite and a dickhead who, stereotypically, can dish it out but he can’t take it.

I will talk about Goodes in a moment. But first — seeing politics and football have intersected on this issue — I want to talk about my own club, Carlton.

We have a long and proud tradition of having Aboriginal players at Carlton, beginning with one of the first to ever play the game at the senior VFL/AFL level: Syd Jackson, who played 136 games in the 1970s, and who is rightly revered at Carlton as a dual premiership hero and much-loved icon of our club.

More recently, four of our best players — Andrew Walker, Eddie Betts, Jeff Garlett and Chris Yarran — have come to Carlton from Aboriginal backgrounds.

Betts has gone to Adelaide, and gets booed when we play the Crows: not because he is black, and not simply because he crossed the Rubicon to play at a rival club, but because his departure stemmed from Betts putting a ridiculous price tag on his own head as the cost for staying at Carlton, which was (in the view of supporters and, it seems the club hierarchy) unjustified based on his inconsistent but patchily awe-inspiring output as a small forward and goalsneak.

Most players who go to other clubs, in AFL fan culture, get booed. Just because they do. There’s nothing cerebral to it and certainly nothing racist about it.

Garlett has gone to Melbourne with the best wishes of Carlton fans: not because we are pleased to see the back of a black player, but because like Betts, the gap between “Jeffy” at his best and his worst was cavernous: a fresh start for the player at another club was probably in the best interests of both Garlett and Carlton — and this is a story that plays out at every club at one point or another.

Walker frustrates because, like Garlett, he is inconsistent: but unlike Garlett, he has been far more consistent over 13 seasons than Garlett was over six; and Yarran is widely touted as “trade bait” at the end of this season: not to get rid of a black player, but because there is a sense that the supremely talented, exquisitely skilled, lightning-fast Yarran simply doesn’t fit the club as it begins a total rebuild of its playing list, and that he might fare better — and gain more personally — at a club in premiership contention, which Carlton most certainly is not.

The point is that our members and supporters (who, admittedly, boo Goodes, like everyone else) are not racist and in fact, have embraced Aboriginal players like so many other clubs have done; for whatever reason, these players seem to boast grace and power and speed and skill in levels that are disproportionate with their caucasian counterparts; and far from being a difference that elicits prejudice, the Aboriginal players are revered.

Stories like those of our Aboriginal players at Carlton and the vaulting esteem in which they are held can be found at virtually every AFL club these days, and any booing that goes on (which, to be clear, is something that non-indigenous players get singled out for, too) is never racially motivated: Aboriginal players get the same treatment from football crowds as everyone else does — which is as it should be — and if they get booed at all, they have done something specific to warrant it.

Were it racially motivated, then every Aboriginal player would be booed every time they set foot on a football field which, quite clearly, they are not.

Many of them are names that bring people to football games just to see them play. And until very recently, one of those names was Adam Goodes.

Miranda Devine, writing in Sydney’s Daily Telegraph today, sets out the case against Goodes with a clarity that is sorely lacking among some of her contemporaries, including at her own newspaper: and she also sets out the mythical “redneck man” supposedly responsible for a crusade against Goodes, which is said to be racist, bigoted, and based on nothing more than the colour of his skin. Nothing could be further from the truth. I urge everyone to read Miranda’s article today.

Back in 2013, Goodes was instrumental in singling out and publicly shaming a 13-year-old girl who had called him “an ape” at a Sydney vs Collingwood match she attended with her grandmother, and whilst there may have been racial overtones to the sledge, the very culture of football blurs the line in positively determining that the comment was in fact racist: and in any case, Goodes’ behaviour over the incident was so far over the top, excessive, and out of all realistic proportion as to defy belief that even a passionate advocate against racism and Aboriginal disadvantage could lower himself to indulge in it.

Australian football — a game where “gorillas” are prized on team lists because of their size, power and capacity to physically intimidate opponents — itself blurs the line over whether “an ape” might be a racist characterisation, or at least in part another variety of a “gorilla;” one multiple premiership coach was revered for playing “mongrels” on every line, and this reference to dogs was never leapt upon by the sanctimony brigade in outrage in the way a young girl’s taunt that Goodes was “an ape” was.

But let’s just set aside the cultural references within the game itself that might have led an impressionable kid to think calling Goodes “an ape” was acceptable, and look at his response.

As Miranda notes, Goodes could see this kid was very young — he guessed 14, when in fact she was even younger than that.

Yet that didn’t stop him from demanding the AFL’s rent-a-cops single her out, march her from the grandstand, after which she was held and presumably interrogated for more than two hours, until beyond midnight, whilst separated from her grandmother.

The girl must have been absolutely terrified. Goodes is not a stupid fellow. He did not come down in the proverbial last shower. He knows how the AFL works. He must have had at least some inkling of how AFL officials would respond once he sooled them onto her.

In this era of live telecasting of AFL matches against the gate — and especially a high-profile clash between power clubs like Sydney and Collingwood — the entire demeaning episode, including the girl being frogmarched out of the stadium by the AFL’s goons, was beamed live around the country to a TV audience numbering in the millions.

Yet not content with this success, and apparently driven by a total disregard for the emotional welfare of a 13-year-old child who had already been nationally shamed, Goodes fronted the media the following day to declare that “racism has a face, and it is a 13-year-old girl.”

To do this — in spite of the humiliation and vilification that had been heaped upon her the night before, and with the apparent forethought suggested by having taken the time to consider what he would tell the press when they next asked him about it — speaks to Goodes, despite whatever else he might be, being a prick: nothing more, nothing less.

I don’t condone racism for a moment, and certainly not in professional sport. But this episode, by Goodes’ own actions, represents something else entirely.

The girl subsequently apologised to Goodes and wrote him a letter, but the damage was done: and whilst Goodes did and does enjoy the shelter of not just the AFL community but of the entire grandstanding, moralising, finger-waving lobby of Chardonnay drunks and social campaigners who are just looking to destroy people in the name of the causes they are obsessed with — to the total exclusion in most cases of any sense of decency, balance, or common sense — this young kid, who herself comes from a severely compromised background as the disadvantaged child of a single mother on a disability pension, had nobody to defend her and no voice of mass reach to counter the malicious onslaught Goodes’ apparently carefully considered words unleashed.

I am sick of hearing about Adam Goodes, and so are an awful lot of ordinary, decent, unbigoted people.

I personally don’t boo Goodes when I see him at the football, although I am also intellectually honest enough — unlike the PC chatterati set driving the “Adam has been racially vilified” bandwagon — to know there is nothing racist behind it. Not now. He was complicit in trying to destroy a little girl’s world in retaliation for one poorly chosen remark at a football game. He should, in fact, be ashamed of himself.

The fact he claimed late in the week to be unable to play football at the weekend because the controversy around being booed by crowds had all become too much for him to cope with is a claim that, regrettably, cuts no ice where I’m concerned.

Racially provoked or not, Goodes’ response unleashed consequences on the girl that were out of all proportion, unjustified and unjustifiable, and which could cause permanent psychological damage to someone who arguably wasn’t even old enough to fully comprehend what she had done wrong, let alone be a suitable target for making an example of her on a national stage.

But Goodes can’t handle the fact that the episode has directly led to football crowds viewing him very, very poorly.

He’s had AFL matches at the weekend all making faux stands against racism — ostensibly in his name — because people dare to hold him to account, the only way they can, for the frightful and malevolent approach he took to a 13 year old child, for goodness’ sake.

He’s had journalists and opinion makers all over the country coming out of the woodwork, suggesting anyone who dares to boo Goodes — or even to criticise him at all — is, unambiguously, a racist and a bigot, wildly generalised and thoroughly misguided statements that should be dismissed with the contempt they deserve.

He’s had the army of do-gooders on Twitter who ache for causes to shame and pillory and crucify people over tweeting that #IStandWithAdam which, presumably, means they fully sanction what he did to that poor girl.

The vengeful bent of reprisal that drove Goodes that night does not speak to a fair, forgiving or even reasonable mindset, whatever the provocation.

And the low regard in which he has subsequently been held by a solid portion of both the football public and the wider community is something for which he only has himself to blame.

Nobody forced Goodes — who, again, would have had a very clear idea of the likely fallout — to shame and humiliate that kid, and make her life a living misery in front of a national audience and abetted by the finger-shakers whose instincts are to destroy, rather than to heal or to reconcile.

That he now can’t handle the response — or if he doesn’t like the fact that the character his actions ultimately shredded was his own, not that of the girl in question — is of little interest, and no cause for sympathy, let alone the imbecilic outpouring that has taken place in recent days.

If you’re just a dickhead, you’re just a dickhead: and as far as I’m concerned, that particular shoe fits Adam Goodes. It has nothing to do with the fact he’s black.

If Goodes doesn’t like the fact those who once admired him now harbour nothing but contempt, he will just have to get over it; and the fact decent people without a racist bone in their bodies refuse to forgive the retaliatory experience he inflicted on a child does not constitute racism in any way — rather, the total horror that anyone would find it appropriate to put the poor girl through what Goodes, knowingly, saw fit to put her through at all.

And to date, no apology for that has been forthcoming.

In short, Adam Goodes can go to hell. And if he wants to complain any more about his lot where these issues are concerned, the hitherto slavering press pack ought to tell him to tell his story walking.

There are plenty of other Aboriginal identities who make excellent role models for their communities, and good Australian people from other backgrounds embrace them openly, as they once did Goodes.

If Goodes is no longer regarded by many people as one of them, there is nothing “racist” about it.