Memo from ALP Publicity, re: Tanya Plibersek

The following memo was found next to a severed hand, in a dumpster, behind ALP headquarters in Sussex St, Sydney.

FROM: Barry Shank, ALP Publicity
TO: All staff
RE: Tanya Plibersek; Sunday Life

Comrades,

First of all, well bloody done!

I knew that when Pickles the Policy Monkey flung his breakfast at a picture of Tanya, thus signalling her as the party’s Next Big Thing™, we were onto a winner. The choice of Sunday Life was a good one as well – you can take the candidate, and introduce her to a mostly female audience in a laid back weekend supplement. That way she doesn’t have to actually, you know, ‘speak’ with any authority about matters of substance, policy and the like. We all know that the ladies aren’t big on substance (but we also know that Tanya is well versed on her portfolio and any number of policy issues; but that’s neither here nor there).

And, good choice, Pickles on Sunday Life. It’s a good thing we did a dry run ten years ago with Julia in the same magazine (Good Weekend, same-ish), basically the same story so we could make the mistakes and learn from them (learning from your mistakes is, granted, a new policy drive in the ALP). We do what we tried with Julia: sound the ominous warning of a hip young(ish) female as a rising star in the ALP. But unlike Julia, we show the ladies of the nation that Tanya is a married mother of three, ergo a breeder (and not ‘purposefully barren’ or suspiciously linked to a ‘male hairdresser’), and there’s not an empty fruit bowl in sight – quite the contrary: as part of the whole ‘you CAN have it all’ approach we’re compelled/conditioned to make about women in politics or business, we were cunning enough to have Sunday Life frame the whole thing as ‘Tanya-as-mum-on-the-go’. Open the whole thing with Tanya making her own mayonnaise. Nice touch!

I know that while this may have come across as a kind of shaming and bullying, comparable to one that Daily Life reported on recently, but that’s one of the licks we’re going to have to take. It’s not about what she has to contribute, policy wise, it’s the small miracle of how she manages to raise three smiling kids, look stylish in whatever outfit the stylist at Sunday Life set up for her, and maintain the public image of deputy Labor leader. Sure, nobody ever profiles a man in power and asks him how he manages it, coz we just assume he has a wife, right? Moot point. Tanya’s got kids, AND a job, AND looks great on Q&A, AND makes her own mayonnaise. Isn’t she clever???

We’ve learned the hard way (boy, have we!) about what we expect from lady politicians, and how the people of Australia (including the women) respond to them. But this Sunday Life profile really threw women voters the double blind: it showed them a source of inspiration minus anything of policy substance, and simultaneously chided them for being listless, unambitious tarts for not achieving the same level of career success and domestic stability. Also, that photo? Awesome. You might as well have taken it for a toothpaste commercial. They’re so white they’re almost blue.

Capital effort, people. Now, if you need me I’ll be with the rest of the chaps making decisions.

The Liberated Luddite

A recently aired episode of Parks and Recreation featured recalcitrant neo-Luddite Ron Swanson in a tirade against social media, and in an attempt to get ‘off the grid’ go to extreme lengths to remove his identity from as much media as possible. Eventually, he relented and got a mobile phone, but a simple handset that clipped onto his belt. His polar opposite Tom Haverford noted the age of Ron’s phone, and after suggesting that not only did it look like the original phone from Wall Street, but the original phone itself, exclaimed "It’s got buttons! Ewwwww!"

I recently found myself in need of a new phone, after being the owner of an iPhone3 for about four years. As far as units go, it was intriguing and fun at first, in that it combined the internet, an iPod and a phone in one, and all those ridiculous apps were worth (literally) minutes of amusement (among my collection included a Samuel L Jackson sound board, and something called ‘Fart Piano’). Eventually, the technology superseded the device and most of the apps stopped working, the internet browser slowed to a crawl and it was just a chunky piece of glass I carried with me at every moment. One day, gravity got the better of it and the screen shattered; I took this as a cue to upgrade. Without being bowled over by what was on offer, and quite frankly offended by some of the charges and fees of my (major brand name) provider, I flew into a fit of technological indignation, purchased the cheapest handset available and went home.

The handset I bought makes phone calls and sends texts; it has an attachment that allows you to listen to FM radio. The camera takes pictures, but the phone doesn’t allow you to look at them. The internet browser is slow and doesn’t seem to work on 99% of websites. The available apps are archaic and range from ‘charming’ to ‘pointless’. Its keypad even has buttons. Ewwww.

As a direct result of this, I don’t have the internet with me on public transport or when having drinks with friends. I have to engage with people one-on-one. I have to entertain myself with other things – books, music, my own thoughts (egad). When in company, I enjoy the actual company of others. Smart phones have brought the internet to everyone’s fingertips at any time of the day or night. And now that I no longer have the internet, I am neither distracted by, nor seeking distraction by it (we should remember that strangely enough there is nothing in this world more distracting than every piece of information in the world, ever.)

The rate at which people are compelled to Tweet and Instagram, update their Facebook statuses and follow the activities of their ‘friends’ (real or otherwise) is something that doesn’t seem odd until the moment you step back and see others do it when your technological restraints prevent you from doing the same. If someone is enjoying an apple and wants to share that with the universe, that’s one thing, but ‘Eating an apple, feeling healthy LOL’ sent into the ether isn’t really for anyone but the person sending it. It might as well say ‘Validate me! Say you like me by acknowledging my words and actions!’

Full disclosure: I Tweet, but mostly it’s my attempt at one-liners. I share links to articles I think worthy of others’ reading. But I’ve also been a first hand witness to the socially crippling effects that a compulsive Tweeter experiences. One friend had a close to clinical compulsion to check his phone if anyone nearby checked theirs; a former girlfriend woke to, and went to sleep with Twitter close at hand and had the perplexing habit of Tweeting close to every thought, including moments of intimacy between the two of us. This was flattering at first, although it’s quite disturbing with a bit of hindsight. If you start or end your day with a cordial message to Twitter in general, chances are that you and I are vastly different people, indeed.

And yes, I know that there's something askew in ranting against social media, and using social media to do it, as well as promote it. I get that.

The fact remains that every moment need not be Tweeted; every meal need not be Instagrammed. You may be socially or emotionally isolated, and the internet might be your only avenue for human connection. Such people are in an infinitesimal minority. I’ve embraced the idea of comfortably enjoying silences with friends and companions, and my life needn’t be filled with 140-character ramblings of virtual strangers and celebrities. I now look at a restaurant table full of people focussed on the screens of their phones as a kind of museum exhibit, and it’s all I can do to say, "Look, children… in my day, we used to speak to each other."

Taking a retroactive step in this regard really is liberating. I’ve read so many more things of substance, like … novels. A recent holiday saw me – heaven forbid – leaving my phone at home. Not only did I have to make my own entertainment, I was at 0% risk of having ‘bill shock’ when I returned, having not mistakenly thought that a photograph of a Fijian sunset was something my Facebook friends desperately needed to see then and there (you learn this lesson the hard way, trust me).

Losing my smart phone has set me free. I’m a better person for it. I can heartily recommend the experience.