Not everyone’s a hypocrite. Some of us will be raising a glass to send the old bastard on his way to whatever level of hell lies in wait for hillbilly dictators. In all of the maudlin, confected nostalgia generated by Joh Bjelke-Petersen’s long overdue demise, something precious has been forgotten. The hate.
Because there were thousands of us trapped north of the Tweed who hated that vicious, crackbrained yahoo with a visceral intensity.
There were thousands of us who’ll look back on the Johera as a waking nightmare, when a gang of slack-jawed yokels, crooks, bandits, half-smart chancers and degenerate greedheads ensconced themselves in power by brutally crushing all opposition, debauching the public offices, and rewarding favoured cronies with the sort of naked contempt for propriety that would have impressed Ferdinand Marcos or Manuel Noriega
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