It’s a near unbreakable rule of life after political leadership, even if no one knows exactly why: much like the aftermath of a break-up, it’s apparently very important that we get a public display of just how well the departed leader is doing now, thanks very much.
As it was with Barack Obama and his Trump-era kite surfing, so it is with Scott Morrison’s Alan Partridge-like interview in this weekend’s Sunday Telegraph, the tone of which is set by its headline and opening salvo:
Scott Morrison has a simple message for his critics: ‘If people are thinking I’m sitting here rocking myself to sleep at night in the foetal position, no, I’m not.’
Yep, whatever you’ve heard, Morrison is not in the foetal position. Whatever the haters say, he’s not the least bit catatonic with grief at all he once had, and what he failed to achieve with it. Any notion that the weight of humiliation might have left him hollow, having fought his way into the highest political office in the country, only to lead a government associated with corruption, scandal and dishonesty and then deliver it to a generational defeat? Baseless.
It must have been a nostalgic experience for Morrison, to once again have the media meet him so much further than halfway. The piece, by national weekend politics editor James Campbell, is so gentle, so completely indifferent to insight or revelation, as to be almost meaningless. Or perhaps that’s unfair — there maybe readers truly shocked by what’s he’s been watching, reading (“… I’d never read Jordan Peterson’s book — I found that really interesting”) and the universally positive feedback he gets around Cook.
We learn that “every day” people in his community will thank him “not just for COVID, but particularly around international issues, AUKUS, China, all of these things”, or tell him how good his latest curry-themed Instagram post looked. (Campbell doesn’t appear to have responded “What, even the visibly raw one?”)
So when the piece observes that Morrison has “no intention” of reentering political debate, it’s not surprising that the obvious question — whether his newfound indifference to politics means he’ll leave Parliament, or whether his constituents care that he doesn’t always show up to work any more — doesn’t follow.
