Too little too late, Malcolm. Pooch screwed. Dog won’t hunt.

Oh dear, Malcolm. I have struggled with your decision to quit the Liberal party all week. My initial feelings of good will have waned owing to the  relentless onslaught of reality. You really aren’t a good man.

I was too young to know much of your policies when you held government. I was old enough to understand that you took the reigns illegally, and in doing so cost Australia the leadership of the country’s most visionary Prime Minister. Instead we suffered mediocrity and fear. At your hand, Malcolm.

It is admirable of  you to finally break ties with a party that has betrayed you in the same manner that you betrayed democracy, but why the fuck didn’t you do it sooner, when your dissenting voice may have carried some weight? You apparently toyed with the idea in 2001, when we started killing  asylum seekers for votes. You did nothing. People died.

Howard went on to run a decade long campaign of hatred and fear, and you did nothing. Do you still have your fridge magnet, Malcolm? Are you still alert, but not alarmed? You sat silent while a whole country was transformed into a nationalist scum bucket. Now it’s too much for you?

You are the major architect of the ugliness we now face. Abbott is your child, not Howard’s. You could have aborted while you had the power to do so. Did you? No. You justified your cowardice by claiming loyalty to the ‘left’ of your party –  the true liberals, while leaving them out to dry – alienated from their own party. Australia is now bereft of choice. If you had balls that would not be the case. You could have redefined the Liberal party. You didn’t.

As much as I applaud your decision, it fails to overrule my opinion of you as Kerr’s cur. You could have made a difference if you had a spine. You are the same craven, failed man that I remember from my childhood.

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About Gibbot

Normal working Joe. Occasional musician and writer. Avid reader and political tragic. Humanist. View all posts by Gibbot

3 responses to “Too little too late, Malcolm. Pooch screwed. Dog won’t hunt.

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