It is a blessing for fans of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four that the esteemed members of the Australian parliament have updated their internal library of literary references and taken an occasional break from the insistence that every opponent, policy, or concept which runs contrary to their personal beliefs can be dubbed ‘Big Brother’. But why, as a replacement, did they have to base every political sledge in Harry Potter? It’s not that I object to using J.K. Rowling’s phenomenally successful series as a touchstone for absolutely anything that happens in the course of life or politics. I grew up with Harry Potter and read the series end-to-end, on a loop, from the ages of 12 to 23.
No, my objection is when politicians, in their zeitgeisty eagerness, get it wrong. Much like Orwell, whose name is hammered like an incorrect puzzle piece into dialogues on anything from big government to the right to make racist attacks, references to Harry Potter are woefully misapplied.
Usually, this is out of a desire to dub someone Voldemort. Current Voldey-of-the-week is former prime minister Tony Abbott, named by opposition foreign affairs spokeswoman Tanya Plibersek on Friday. The Australian’s columnist Janet Albrechtsen confirmed the appointment last week, in a lengthy fancast that was admirable for its inclusion of minor characters like Cormac McLaggen (a dummy-spitting Quidditch jock for whom Kevin Andrews was a rather genius comparison) but fell down when Barnaby Joyce was dubbed the Hagrid of Australian politics.
They may share an unerring ability to put their foot in it, but Hagrid would never threaten celebrity dogs Pistol and Boo in the name of promoting biosecurity. Hagrid was a walking biosecurity nightmare, buying three-headed dogs and dragons from men in pubs and raising acromantula in a school cupboard, not to mention the blast-ended skrewts. Joyce would never approve. Last month’s Voldemort was David Gonski, nominated by Liberal MP Trevor Evans in a sparring match with Labor’s Joanne Ryan, who responded by dubbing the entire Liberal backbench his death eaters.
In March it was the 2014-15 budget, an analogy invoked by opposition immigration spokesman Shayne Neumann because “we dare not speak its name”. Neumann is a serial offender in tortured Harry Potter analogies. After Labor won government in 2007, his Voldemort was Work Choices. Interestingly, his exposition on this idea in a parliamentary debate in 2008 referred to Voldemort as “the Prince of Darkness,” which is not one of Voldemort’s names in the books but is the title of an erotic fanfiction in which Harry’s mum has an affair with the Dark Lord.
Non-erotic references pop up throughout Hansard: in his leaving speech in 2013 former speaker Harry Jenkins dubbed Mark Latham “the Lord Voldemort of leaders”; in 2008 Tony Burke decided the Australian Wheat Board was “the Voldemort of the Senate”; and in 2003 Labor senator Chris Evans declared “bulk-billing has become the Lord Voldemort of Australian health department language.”
I can’t believe this needs to be said, but Tony Abbott is not Voldemort. There is no Voldemort in Australian politics. We are fortunate not to have an evil that absolute. And while it’s fun to make snide remarks about He Who Must Not Be Named, if you’re a stickler for literary accuracy (which I am; it’s why I’m so much fun at parties) then you must save your analogies for an actual genocidal fascist bent on global destruction and capable of inspiring the love through fear of millions. Like calling people Hitler it rather loses impact when misapplied. If we were to fancast Harry Potter using Australian members of parliament, then Abbott would be Peeves the poltergeist. Peeves was sniping, obsequious, delighted in supporting authoritarian regimes like that of Dolores Umbridge and her 28 educational decrees, and was generally a wrecker.
Additionally, it suggests one could deal with Abbott the same way Professor Lupin dealt with Peeves: by shouting “Waddiwasi!” and causing used chewing gum to fly out of a keyhole and into his left nostril. Umbridge would be Bronwyn Bishop, which means that Herald Sun journalist Annika Smethurst, who broke the story about Bishop chartering a flight from Melbourne to Geelong and sparked #Choppergate, leads the herd of centaurs that drove her away.
Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, who Albrechtson cast as Harry Potter, the mortal enemy of Tonemort, would be at best Xenophilius Lovegood, a clever man drawn to the power of the elder wand who betrays Harry to protect his daughter. At worst he would be Gilderoy Lockhart, amnesiac fraud and five-time winner of the Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. Out of respect for the stern refusal he gave minister of magic Rufus Scrimgeour at the suggestion of being used as a political tool, Harry ought to be left out of any extended political metaphors until such time as a politician produces a corporeal patronus.
That is NEWT-level magic. Until then, this parliament of muggles could put more effort into its literary references.
Thanks to Stephen Murray for the Hansard references and various others for Potterverse consults.
— Guardian News & Media Ltd
Calla Wahlquist is a reporter for Guardian Australia.
