Jim Chalmers to Australian Workers - Drop Dead

The RBA held the cash rate at 4.35 per cent yesterday and the Treasurer sprinted to the microphone to call it a:

relief to Australians with a mortgage

A relief. Nothing happened to you today, so hold your gratitude until he finishes reading aloud his own report card.

Inflation is too high and prices are still climbing, just at a pace the Treasurer finds personally flattering, and this is presented as a gift bestowed. Your dollar buys less than last year. It will buy less next year.

And whose fault is that? Nobody’s in Canberra, obviously.

The war in the Middle East did it. Global uncertainty did it. What was inherited did it.

Far down that queue of villains stands a government that has spent like a lottery winner with terminal cancer, taxes like a parking inspector on commission, throttled its own energy supply, rewritten industrial relations to suit the public sector unions that bankroll the party, and delivered the worst productivity performance in sixty years.

This is never mentioned.

Strip away the fog and the message to the Australian worker is 2 words long. First beginning with F. Second beginning with Y.

You will suffer. Not incidentally, but by design, because the suffering is the entry fee to the government’s utopian dreams.

The tradie on his sixth straight day, servicing a mortgage that costs double what it did three years ago, is not a problem to solve. He is a revenue line, working capital for a plan he never voted for, toward a destination that recedes at exactly the speed of his overtime.

And there is always a plan. Nearly 400,000 federal public servants and rising, on secure hours and indexed pay, planning a prosperity that never arrives for those funding it.

All animals are equal. But public servant animals are considerably more equal.

The expropriations will continue until everyone is equal. Equally poor. Except the governing class of course.

So let’s end the debate and call the race over.

The worst Treasurer in Australian history is not Jim Cairns, who at least had the grace to be gloriously ridiculous. It is not Josh Frydenberg, who merely flung open the vault during a pandemic. It is Jim Chalmers, and it is not close.

And the punchline; a man from the banana state is marching Australia into a banana republic.

Forty years ago Keating described that road precisely. His most devoted student, who wrote a thesis about him, is skipping down it in red slippers.

Keating still speaks about everything. He has not said this.