Ceremony has meaning and should be recognised

Watching the opening of Parliament I was quite shocked when Andrew Probyn in his rundown of the events dismissed much of what had happened over the course of the day as mere ceremony, as though the only thing that counted was numbers of representatives and their votes on individual Bills. 

This kind of short-sighted attitude allows “expert” like Probyn to ignore the content of the Indigenous contribution to the day’s proceedings, where Paul House exhorted representatives to respect all living things, a clarion call of momentous proportions especially given the appalling rate of mammal extinctions experienced by the continent of Australia.

In fact, the nightly news followed the ABC’s coverage (which included the entirety of the governor-general’s address) by focusing on a few words spoken by the prime minister in respect of outcomes. Albanese said that when you’re old you have only two options looking back over your life: to be proud or to regret. I personally don’t think this is strictly true (I’ll be happy if I feel a mild sense of contentment about what’s happened over the course of my eventful life) but I am not going to quibble with the PM’s advance gloss for his period of leadership at this point in time.

What I want to concentrate on is the double standard in play when it comes to ceremony. For some nationalities (eg the Japanese) form is just as important as substance, and rightly so. We are immensely proud of some aspects of our legacy of peaceful democratic transitions, and we endlessly go on about the past when it comes to sport, but for some reason we won’t admit this to even exist or else we think that relying on the comfort of formalism is a weakness or something to be ashamed about.

Form is tremendously powerful, and not obeying it can have radical ramifications, just think of the process of ordering and paying for food. If something “seems” wrong at one point then you worry that the meal will be spoiled. Not responding in the correct way might also see you accused of trying to get out of the restaurant without paying, which could ruin more than your evening. Driving a car is also a highly formalised routine, with a specified sequence of actions involved in, say, turning a corner safely so that nobody gets hurt and so that you arrive in time at your destination.

But when it comes to politics “form” is a nasty word. We even want to get rid of the Queen for some reason, as if the horrors of US politics had never happened (since 2016 at least) because why you’d want to mix your ceremonial head of state with your executive – in the same person – is beyond me, and we have seen how people become irrationally destructive and even criminal when this is allowed to take place.

In fact we need form just as much as the Japanese. We desperately want to feel like things are going on in the correct fashion even though the world changes so fast that it’s hard to keep up. We want to feel close to people around us even though sometimes we feel the need to get away to some remote location and commune with naked nature. We crave peace yet we get bored if we’re not amused and flattered by some stupid Netflix drama we can switch off at a whim. We relish the companionship of dogs, whose routines come to dominate our lives because they keep us sane.

Yet Andrew Probyn can talk about “mere” form and the next day watch State of Origin: a series (established only in the 1980s) that it’s been talked about expanding because Melbourne feels left out. If NRL isn’t all form, I don’t know how to whip tea.

Prime minister set the tone for coverage of Prince Philip’s passing

Early on Saturday the news channels were full of the big story of the day, but it wasn’t until Scott Morrison took to the podium in Sydney to give his address to the nation – and to its sovereign head, the Queen – that the tone was set. Newscasters had been tiptoeing around the evident failures of the prince’s life and, especially in the light of recent scandals in Canberra, his frank and robust manner. I sensed that for many of the TV presenters the issue of how to deal with Prince Philip’s vagrant tongue – he was well known for making casual and inappropriate remarks – was testing their equipoise.

The front held, however, but when Morrison took the line that Philip was staunch in supporting the Queen, more analysis became unnecessary. Pictures of the prince playing with children whose marriages would eventually fall apart showed on the TV screen, filling up the interstices between things. On Facebook friends who wouldn’t normally comment positively on the royal family gave their best wishes on the occasion. 

A pattern was being set but the old-school manner of Philip is not what’s needed, now, at a time when the world is assuredly and finally coming to grips with past mistakes. Not surprisingly, Morrison made no mention of his predecessor Tony Abbott’s knighting the prince – a final flame-out of the old guard before it was completely extinguished by the catcalls of the Left – but took refuge in the words of the old national anthem: “Long may she reign over us, God save the Queen.” By repeating these words, Morrison took a middle line between poetry and tradition, and struck a nice balance on the international stage.

In London the ABC had two reporters on the ground, making crosses at different times (see above, outside Buckingham Palace). Floral wreaths being left by locals despite a sign asking that this not be done. The household put out a request that donations should be, instead, made to charities.

The media really comes into its own on occasions such as this. As does the PM. Morrison reliably avoided tears while speaking to the cameras, the microphones set in front of him at Kirribilli in front of his residence on the harbour, and many would have been thinking of the elapsed period of a month or so marking the time since Philip had been admitted to hospital for a pre-existing heart condition. It takes a long time for anyone to die, if they die in their beds. 

Not like princes of old. “Duke remembered as champion of environmental causes,” went the strapline on ABC News channel. “Prince Philip’s Duke of Edinburgh Award a lasting legacy.” But it was strange – considering what this man was really known for – that nothing at all was said about his faux-pas, his indiscretions, his gaffes. We remove a tangible mechanism for change when we censor ourselves at the time of someone’s passing. This silence surrounding Philip’s failings speaks of our own cowardice, an unwillingness – when we, too, pass away – for the truth to be spoken. Are we so guilty in our minds?