Try a Louder Voice

I write not to praise the Opposition, but to autopsy it while it’s still twitching.

Barely. If it twitched any slower, we’d need carbon dating to confirm it’s still alive.

Australian democracy runs on a sacred, simple compact: the Government governs, and the Opposition opposes (preferably at a volume audible to the human ear). Their entire job is to be the political equivalent of a smoke alarm – shrill, impossible to ignore, and ideally beeping aggressively at 3am because a molecule of steam wafted near it.

Instead, under Sussan Ley, the Coalition has embraced a bold new strategy: oppositional homeopathy. So diluted, so spiritually faint, that if you ran their media releases through a spectrometer the most you’d find is the memory of a criticism.

Politics these days feels less like a gladiatorial contest and more like a group therapy session where everyone’s terrified of hurting the government’s feelings. The Opposition rises, clears its throat with the confidence of a man about to ask for the Wi-Fi password, and delivers a critique so delicately nuanced it could be used as a doily.

The Sussan Ley School of Political Persuasion™

(Motto: “Shhh… inside voices, please.”)

1. The Disapproving Whisper

Instead of a thunderclap denunciation, we get a critique delivered at the volume of someone trying not to wake a cat.

You can picture the coaching session:

“Sussan, give it everything you’ve got – librarian-who’s-found-a-book-four-years-overdue energy. Let them feel that tepid, simmering irritation.”

Instead, she whispers what is best described a strongly-worded murmur so faint it registers only on instruments used to detect bat communication.

2. The Vague Gesture at a Problem

“The government’s approach on [insert issue here] is… concerning,” a Coalition backbencher will say, before trailing off as if they’ve just remembered they left the oven on.

What’s concerning?

Why is it concerning?

Is the oven okay?

Who knows. It’s like watching someone begin a dramatic monologue and then get distracted by a bird.

3. The Wet Lettuce Doctrine (Advanced Level)

Even when they do manage to say something pointed, it lands with all the impact of a soggy piece of iceberg lettuce being gently pressed against a window. Journalists have begun taking beanbags to press conferences, just in case someone accidentally says something almost interesting and they faint.

Remember the glory days when the phrase “The Leader of the Opposition says…” used to lead every second news bulletin? It has vanished, like Peter Dutton’s forehead in direct sunlight. Frankly, we’re all better for it. Let it stay in whatever lost-property bin it crawled into.

The Albanese government, meanwhile, must feel like a boxer in the ring against an opponent who keeps trying to win them over with thoughtful poetry. They lob policy haymakers; the Opposition responds by murmuring, “Have you considered… mindfulness?”

The government is being held to account with all the structural integrity of a balloon left in a hot car.

We, the public, sit before our screens shouting:

“No! Not ‘concerning’! Try ‘breathtakingly incompetent,’ ‘economically pyromaniacal,’ or even ‘a crime against the concept of Tuesday’ – give us something we can quote in the group chat!”

We’re not demanding the full Tony Abbott theatre – no need to resurrect the “carbon tax” poltergeist.

A mild growl would suffice.

The clink of a teaspoon against a mug in mild irritation.

A paperclip thrown with intent.

A passive-aggressive sigh!

Anything.

So please, dear Opposition: turn it up from a 1 to a chaotic, unpredictable 3.

Try sarcasm.

Try righteous bewilderment.

Try reading your own talking points back to a minister in the voice of a disappointed Kermit the Frog.

Because right now, the only thing you’re holding to account is the national record for Australia’s quietest existential scream.

Summary: The Opposition has become so utterly useless they’ve managed to drain every last drop of drama from politics. Watching them is less exciting than a rainy afternoon rerun of Ma and Pa Kettle Go to Town.

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