The Hobart Chronicles VII: Running On Empty

“I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels.”
- Jackson Browne, Running On Empty (1977)

Week ??

Yes, I know this is late! Please accept my apologies for being slack with the postings. I had an unprecedented outcry this week (ie. 3 emails. Don’t laugh, that’s a GREAT response by my standards) when people realised I was back at work and in reach of a computer, and still hadn’t written something witty post-election. No doubt you’ll be disappointed when you get to the end of this post without coming across anything witty, but then I’ve never promised such lofty goals, and can’t accept responsibility for your expectations.

Well, the run up to TasNarnia Votes 2006 was frenetic and, for a first-timer to the state, an education in how other people do things. Even now I’m unable to explain the Hare-Clarke voting system to you, but the pertinent thing to remember is that each electorate elects five MPs rather than the standard one (this is not the place for remarks about close families or having more than one head. Nor is it a good place to think about value for your taxpayer dollars). Some commentators say that H-C is a more democratic system because your preferences do actually count for something. Others say this accounts for a higher percentage of women parliament. Maybe.

What is interesting is that how-to-vote cards and ads are verboten here, and this may relate to why grass-roots campaign elements look and sound different. There are ‘vote for’ signs everywhere, and ‘everywhere’ is no exaggeration: front yards, orchards, enormous banners strapped around prominent corner pubs, a-frames lashed to ute trays; all are fair game. It’s not unusual to see paddocks or even suburban gardens featuring more than one ‘vote for’ sign – and not always for the same party. One memorably large paddock I saw had no fewer than seven different signs featuring candidates from the three major parties, a very unbiased effort.

Also, there’s a tendency towards cult of personality campaigning, focussing much more on the candidate than the party. In one case (a five foot tall a-frame lashed to a ute tray in ’Stone) the words “for Labor” were printed in 12-point type and thus rendered invisible to anyone not inclined to stop in deserted servos to read political signs.

In fact, Labor was a bit of a dirty word in this campaign. Like the other states, the Labor government here seems to owe its mandate to poor opposition rather than genuine endorsement by the people. Anyway, for a while there seemed a good chance of a juicy campaign. There was the promise of corruption, bullyboy tactics, jobs for mates etc. smearing the government; you know, a Premier with red hair and no background. Controversial opinion polls indicating the Greens could grab parliamentary balance of power verged on the titillating (if politics fires your cylinders). And from the Liberals, … well, I would love to say there was some excitement from their camp, but I’d be lying. They mounted a campaign much like being flogged with Keating’s (or rather, Hewson’s) wet lettuce leaf.

So, what happened?
Seats before polling: ALP 14, Lib 7, Grn 4
Seats after counting: ALP 14, Lib 7, Grn 4

Well, wasn’t that worth the effort.

As for my part in it all, apart from being terrified we would never get the OB up and it would all be my fault, I began to look forward to election night. The TasNarnian tally room is I believe the only one in Australia open to the public and, as mentioned previously, located Wrest Point Casino. BaldRoss was scheduled for a visit (in lieu of that trip to NZ), I didn’t have much to do except be a secondary runner at the event, and so we thought it might be an exciting night.

So how did I end up as operational anchor back in the Corporation studios? I don’t know either. Something about being able to confidently press buttons and do more than one thing simultaneously and quickly, skills that seem to be in short supply here.

Still, the night was quite fun in its own way: switching pollies from the Launceston & Burnie studios, getting up phone calls, and working with a 2nd producer to get the Commonwealth Games swimming finals up around a sliding race schedule. BaldRoss even fetched pizza. And later, when we went down to Wrest Point to help pack up the equipment, the boss rescued me from the task with a beer (imbibed while watching an enthusiastic group of Kims & Bretts boogie-ing to a not entirely filthy cover band).

Perhaps the best part of the whole night was the schadenfreude. Sure, we had a terrible computer failure which strangled Anthony Gnome’s election stats for the first hour, and kept the Gnome Himself from our broadcast; sure, our other political commentator from UTas got wrangled by WIN TV and we had to wrangle him back. Sure, we had to fit in those cursed swimming races. But at least we didn’t have a complete power failure that crashed our entire broadcast and f*cked up all our computer software. Like our TV cousins did. Heh.

By this time my brain was well and truly fried, so I didn’t protest when the boss made me take some of my excessive amount of saved leave. And that’s how I am (barely) able to write to you today.

So with that in mind I hope you’ll forgive me that crap Jackson Browne quote.

On the agenda soon:
Easter
ANZAC Day
Port Arthur 10th Anniversary
2 weeks presenting Drive (terror!)