Ah, election season—the time when politicians make grand promises, and we all pretend we haven’t heard this song before. Cost of living—current major buzz phrase. Fix our healthcare system—heard that one before. Better roads, tax cuts, world peace, a winning Eagles team, or a trophy for the Dockers… the wish list goes on.
Some Things Shouldn’t Be Up for Debate
There are certain things that shouldn’t be held hostage by election cycles—healthcare, roads, and education. These are fundamentals, not bargaining chips for politicians to dangle in front of us every election cycle.
Imagine if we had a bipartisan, long-term strategy—a 30+ year plan locked in for hospitals, infrastructure, and schools, with guaranteed funding that couldn’t be slashed or redirected whenever a new government needed to shuffle the budget. Road maintenance wouldn’t depend on whether an MP needed a ribbon-cutting photo op, hospitals wouldn’t be in crisis every flu season, and schools wouldn’t have to wait for an election to get new buildings.
We do this with the Reserve Bank—why not apply the same logic to the things that actually impact people’s daily lives? Instead of playing political football with essential services, set the budget, agree on the priorities, and just get it done. .
Imagine a world where a political leader actually said: “Let’s get our emergency departments down to a three-hour wait instead of six. Sound good?”
It’s not even a radical idea—businesses do it all the time! If a café promises “Best Coffee in Perth,” they don’t come back six months later saying, “Okay, scratch that, but next time we’ll have the best sandwiches.” You’d just ask them to fix the bloody coffee first.
Yet in politics, the game is:
- Make a wild promise.
- Get elected.
- Explain why it wasn’t technically a promise.
- Blame the opposition, the budget, or the fact that it rained last Tuesday.
- Rinse and repeat.
And we keep falling for it!
Can We Just Be Nice for Once?
Then there’s the mud-slinging, which is every politician’s favourite pastime—right up there with complaining about fuel prices and arguing over whether AFL should be played at Optus Stadium or a country footy oval.
Imagine if, for once, politicians promoted their own party by actually talking about what they plan to do, instead of a 24/7 smear campaign against their opponent.
It’s like two tradies bidding for a job, and instead of explaining their skills, they just stand in the driveway throwing dirt at each other:
“Don’t hire him—he used too much grout in 2017!” “Yeah? Well, he was late once in 2019!” “Oh yeah? He didn’t recycle a soft drink can in 2004!”
It’s exhausting. And it’s filtering into everyday life, where suddenly no one is allowed to make a mistake.
Perfection is a Myth (and the Slow-Mo Replay is Killing Us)
We’ve all done it—overanalysed a moment to death. Whether it’s a political gaffe, a footy decision, or a mate’s dodgy dance move at a wedding, we now have instant replays, zoomed-in angles, slow-motion breakdowns, and a week’s worth of Facebook debates about it.
Some poor politician stumbles over a word in a speech? Forget it—his career’s over. An AFL ump makes a tough call? Get out the torches and pitchforks! Or at a casual interview he says “He’s a knob!” and suddenly it’s replayed 47 times from different angles, with expert analysis, a heat map, and a poll on Twitter asking if it was the worst decision of all time.
At what point did we stop allowing people to be human? Everyone says dumb stuff now and then. If you were filmed 24/7, how long before someone found a clip of you scratching your nose weirdly and declared you unfit to lead?
Maybe, just maybe, we need a bit of grace. Maybe we stop looking for a gotcha moment and start remembering that mistakes don’t define a person.
The Bottom Line: Let’s Raise the Bar (But Not Unrealistically High)
Wouldn’t it be nice if: Political leaders actually delivered on their promises? Campaigns were about solutions, not slinging dirt? We remembered that people aren’t perfect, and that’s okay?
If we don’t, we’re heading towards a future where every leader is a sanitised, risk-averse robot, programmed to say absolutely nothing controversial just in case someone finds an old clip of them calling a sausage roll a ‘pastry-based meat tube’ back in 2002.