Last month bore witness to what can only kindly be described as a breathtaking example of mass insanity, as politicians from both major parties crossed the divide to hold hands and bestow state sanction on the initiation of Australia into the global cult of ancestor worship.
That’s right, groovers. You heard right. Australia now has its very own saint. T-shirts available in the lobby. You now know that long dead old women have magic powers to cure cancer, housetrain Pomeranians and remove wine stains from carpet. You know it’s true because our elected officials told us. The media reported it with an air of fawning credulity that would be cute as a button if uttered by a six year old, but is somewhat less becoming from supposed professionals; trained and tasked with reporting fact.
For three days straight we had Mary crammed into every orifice and burned into every sense. Mary in 3D. Mary the bagel. Scratch and sniff Mary. Mary’s all-time favourite dance tracks. Inflatable Mary with the battery powered hoo-ha. Three days of teary-eyed, dithering old ladies and unblinking, brainwashed children. Three days of terminally cynical politicians queuing up to tell anyone stupid enough to listen about their belief in the supernatural. Three days of rolled gold free PR for an organisation dedicated to the aiding and abetting of pederast rings, the propagation of HIV and the universal denial of women’s rights.
And we just couldn’t get enough of it. Twitter hummed Ave Maria as normally sane people with gravitas beards penned missives of love and acceptance. There was dancing in the street. There were gaudy banners. There was Miranda Devine. We were all hard on for Mary.
Now I know, dear readers, that at this point I must appear awfully cynical and pedantic, but I feel it is my duty to bring your attention to a couple of simple facts. The first fact is that there is precisely zero evidence of the existence of miracles. None. I realise this might appear on the surface to be a triviality, but when you consider that the Australian news cycle ground to a constipated halt while it reported the details of Mary’s canonisation, and little attention was paid to this small but salient fact, one is given to pause for wonderment.
Due to some flaw in the system, children are sheltered from hard core porn, but they’re yet to be shielded from the bullshit that passes as the nightly news. In their naivety, they are inclined to believe their elders, especially those in positions of authority – like news readers. It is not until they get older that they develop the contempt they require to disseminate fact from fiction. Until then they are vulnerable to the manipulation of truth that passes for reporting in this country. And then we wonder why they grow to be either credulous idiots or jaded arseholes.
My second point of contention has to do with the impropriety of bestowing legitimacy upon a criminal organisation. Call me a fuddy-duddy, but I’m not big on child rape. The Catholic church has worked harder than any organisation on Earth to not only shield sex offenders within its ranks from prosecution, but to give them every possibility to continue their abuse. For details one should look no further than Geoffrey Robertson’s excellent dissertation; ‘The Case of the Pope’. One must be mindful that every dollar that is tipped into Catholic coffers has as much likelihood of being spent in the service of pederasts as it does in providing for the destitute of the world.
And here is the great conundrum. There is a shitload of Catholics who do good things, and they should be commended. There are far more people deserving of the mantle of sainthood who still draw breath than those interred. The problem is that they are operating in the service of an organisation that is rotten to the core. And we are promoting it. I can’t help but think that our newest arbitrary saint would view the whole situation with disgust. I certainly do.