Speaker for the Dead

First, an apology: As I understand it, a primary condition behind commenting on current affairs is that the affairs are current, and the affairs that inspired this particular commentary are now many weeks old – ancient history in the bizarre little universe of news reporting. However, as you may have already discerned, I am devastatingly lazy. So, for the chronological disparity of these columns, I apologise. For my laziness, despite the causal relationship it holds with said disparity, I staunchly reserve my apologies. ‘Why?’ I hear you think. Because the laziness that prevents me from writing as often as I could, that keeps my novel far from complete, is a part of who I am. And I would appreciate that if anything unfortunate were to happen to me that, during any speeches made by my loved ones, this aspect of my personality was not suppressed like it was a feasible design for an electric car, but celebrated - as will, no doubt, my sunny disposition and love of fluffy kitties; I would appreciate a Speaker for the Dead.

A Speaker for the Dead, as featured in the excellent science fiction novel of the same name, is a person who undertakes extensive research regarding the life of a deceased person and presents their findings at the person’s funeral – big hairy warts and all. The speakee’s life is presented as objectively as possible. And while I believe objectivity itself is a myth more fanciful than Scientology’s core beliefs, the Speaker collates and presents so many subjective accounts of a person’s life that an approximation of objectivity is created. After all, a person is not only how those closest perceive them, or even how they perceive themselves – the most accurate picture of a person comes about through a balanced, well-rounded summation of their actions. So in my case, a Speaker would, with appropriate evidence, show that I’m a fairly kind, generous guy. But, it would also be shown that I often find social interaction a painful chore, which may be perceived by some as coldness or even superiority. The speaker would also be inclined to illustrate that I can be rather gullible and short-sighted – perhaps evidenced by the time when, in primary school, I was tricked into peeing on my own head: "We’re having a contest to see how high you can pee. I hit the roof: can you? Remember, you have to aim straight up..." You see? Balance.

It was this balance that was sorely missing from the media coverage of Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin’s unfortunate death. I’m not suggesting the guy’s skeleton’s should have been hauled out for public display – the Speaker should only state his findings to those intimate with the deceased. And, as evidenced by the public’s reaction to Germane Greer’s anti-Irwin outburst, it would have been a poor business move by any media outlet to present anything but a highly positive image of Irwin. No, what really raised my ire was the local current affairs programs disgusting, money-prompted hypocrisy. For weeks they near deified Irwin, with the most shameful display coming from Today Tonight’s Naomi Robson - presenting from outside Australia Zoo, dressed in a khaki shirt with a lizard on her shoulder. These are the same programs that tortured Irwin when he dangled his baby in front of a crocodile in 2004. Terror suspects, even those with electrodes attached to their berries, have seen classier treatment than that which was dished out to the Croc Hunter at the time. And now? These same programs have slapped a halo on his head and sent his wings and harp along Express Post. One of the commercial news programs even likened Irwin's death to those of Princess Diana and John Lennon. Between this TV coverage and the Herald-Sun’s minimum 10 pages a day, every day, devoted to the event for almost two weeks, I couldn’t help but picture a group of media executives performing unnatural acts with Irwin’s still warm corpse to the rhythmic sounds of a cash register. Ching. Ching. Ching.

Now, I’m not completely naïve. I understand that such coverage was great for business, that millions watched Irwin’s memorial and the first interview with his grieving wife. I understand that money makes the world go ‘round, and that things aren’t going to change anytime soon. And believe me, I understand that apathy is a solution – it can placate the inconvenient personal upheaval that comes with objection to such base profiteering. But I choose to own my hate, my disgust. Extreme emotions present themselves for a reason; hold them, use them to propel yourself in new directions. Only through personal change will greater change manifest. And while profit is sanctified, peace will remain elusive.



So, you may be thinking: ‘Mr Crisotunity, you truly are a wondrous voice of truth!’ Or, you may be thinking: ‘Mr Crisotunity, you truly are a pompous, preaching, patronising pinko!’ Or, (possibly) your thoughts lie somewhere in between. All these thoughts regarding who I am are valid. They are all me. And I trust that after my death, presumably very many years from now, someone will present them all – and hopefully I’ll have achieved something that will relegate ‘pee-on-head’ stories to the opening act, and not the encore.