‘Let us never forget that government is ourselves and not an alien power over us. The ultimate rulers of our democracy are not a president and senators and congressmen and government officials, but the voters of this country’ – Franklin D. Roosevelt
THERE is a foul stench emerging from the corridors, halls and chambers of Papua New Guinea’s Parliament.
I am wondering if you are also aware of this obnoxious odour.
The bad air burns my nostrils, hair follicles disappear, the stink is overwhelming.
This putrid reek bears a pungency that makes me sick and challenges my very state of mind.
In a certain frame of mind, this stench boils my blood, races my heart and causes acid in my eyes. I feel hot blood in my veins, heart thumps as a kundu, eyes bloodshot crimson.
This dreadful stench is a clear and present danger. And as it strengthens and becomes more consuming, I feel weakness in my knees.
But I have God and my ancestors and they forbid fragility, and I will not succumb to its overbearing obnoxious odour.
I gather that this dreadful fart is emanating from within the corrupt, slime-laden bowel of a monster that rests with ease on the floor of our Haus Tambaran.
That’s right, this stench-emitting monster has found itself a nice spot inside the chamber of a parliament that has fewer heads than once before.
Me and you are doomed if we do not do something about this monster and its repugnant stench.
This monster is slowly and surely being stoked under its belly.
I am shouting for all who have ears to listen and eyes to read.
For it is our parliamentarians who recklessly stoke this monster. We are doomed if we do not put a stop to this nonsense. This monster. This stench.
Damn! Where’s democracy? Where’s legitimacy? Where’s rule of law? What happened to the Melanesian Way? The noble bigman has gone walkabout! Damn this stench!
It is evident that in this parliament, the stench has a numbing effect on almost all politicians. The power that was vested in them by the people has become acrid and these parliamentarians just spit it out on the parliamentary carpet like it was buai spittle.
But this spittle is not betel induced but something different, something not of our ancestors, something unMelanesian.
If one of my ancestors from the mountain forests were to return, he would shake his head in disbelief and challenge these monster-stench numbed parliamentarians to fight to honour the Melanesian bigman. My ancestor would beat every one of them, make no mistake.
And our ancestor lives within us all.
If you have the audacity to distract these parliamentarians from their numbed level of thinking by asking, ‘What about the people?’, you are likely to get a grunt or a lazy ‘Ol husait?’.
And it leaves you thinking, ‘Man, these parliamentarians are stoned! They’ve lost reality, no doubt about that’.
So, my good friend, what about the people?
The way I see it, when our parliamentarians are on the floor of parliament, they reek and are high on the effects of this stench. So high they spend most of their time sitting in comfortable chairs incapable of speech.
Some may even doze off for a while. Others are preoccupied with their fingers when important issues are discussed. Some more humorous ones are able to laugh about the deplorable state and treatment of their people.
Damn this monster-stench supremacy of the parliamentary fools’ paradise. My people want good governance and integrity. Nothing less.
I rest my case.