The politics of contrition

He’s been accused of chucking a Beattie, after the Queensland premier of that name who expressed a great deal of remorse over an extended period of time, and got people understandably aggravated with his methods. But that isn’t yet the situation with Rudd. He hasn’t been around long enough for his expression of remorse to become a character trait, or to be automatically interpreted as a political tactic.

Are we really prepared to give Mr Beattie’s behaviours power enough to destroy all our hope for the possibility of genuine remorse in the political world? And what exactly is wrong with a government owning its errors, expressing its regret, and its intention to improve?

Framing his remorse as the “politics of contrition” allows the media to cast deep doubt on the PM’s sincerity (or the sincerity of any other pollie subjected to such an analysis) without actually making any overt accusations. The “politics of contrition” becomes just another Clayton’s catch phrase in the handbook of media spin; it’s the accusation of hypocrisy you make when you don’t yet have any grounds for making an accusation of hypocrisy.

Admittedly it’s hard to maintain any kind of belief in the sincerity of politicians, or even in the possibility of their sincerity. Over the last few years spin-doctors have elevated insincerity to breathtaking heights, globally as well as nationally, and perhaps the media default position is not entirely without cause.

But as consumers we have to object to the inaccurate co-option of profound concepts such as contrition in the service of media cynicism. We can legitimately expect that our media will recognise an oxymoron when they’re about to use it, after all, language is their tool of trade. Its audience can always hold the media accountable for what they say and how they say it, and the repercussions of their sometimes not so objective opinions.

So it might be more considered to give both the plump pink countenance of the Prime Minister, and the desiccated dial of the Leader of the Opposition the benefit of the doubt when expressions of remorse emit from their visages, at least until we’ve had the time to assess their actions as well as their words and thereby determine if they have anymore substance than a soft-centred chocolate left out in the January sun.

Contrition is bigger than politics. Sorrow is bigger than politics, as are guilt, shame and terrible regret. There are no politics of contrition, and once you insist there are, it isn’t contrition you’re talking about.

Little by little, concepts that might once have stirred respect in our hearts have become whittled away through misuse, misapplication, and all too often through cynical appropriation by politicians and media. Eventually, all we will have left to respect is silence.

As for Peter Garrett. Well, he can take a leaf out of Pink’s songbook: “So what, I’m still a rock star, I got my rock moves, and I don’t need you.”