No Welcome, no smoking ceremonies
By Joanna Hackett
I acknowledge those proud Quadrant contributors past and present, who ask despairingly what the lone individual can do when the enemy circles.
Josie hurled her knitting across the room and followed it with the remote. She hit the ABC reporter right smack in the face as intended.
The television spluttered and went dark.
“Smarmy bitch,” she muttered. Her cat, Cat, gave her a belligerent look and stalked into the kitchen. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense, Cat,” she said loudly. “I may be old but I’m not stupid. How dare they do this to my country.”
She sat quietly for a minute. The room was gloomy and cold and the hot water bottle on her lap was clammy. Josie had survived war and depression, worked hard and paid her dues. She loved Australia but now it seemed to be falling apart. Sometimes she felt as if she no longer belonged here, like a piece of detritus. That new little Prime Minister was prancing around parroting on about enshrining his precious voice in the Constitution so that 3 per cent of the population could tell the remaining 97 per cent where to go. That was obviously as ridiculous and damaging as his push for net zero, or men giving birth through their penises.