There was the old demeanour — the skin like wet paper mache, waiting to be molded, the hair like a wreath of cigarette smoke. Ruddock, a man of liberal instincts some years, decades, ago, took on the refugee thing for complicated reasons. It chewed him up, and spat him out, and the result, pulsating with resentment and vindictive and premature triumph, is what we now see on our screens.
I don’t agree with Rundle’s argument that Rudd won’t play as hard as Howard on refugees (wait until a few more boats land and we’ll see) but, gosh, the man can write. Which is why it’s nice that the lead essay in the forthcoming Overland 197 is some Rundleism on New Labour and the Ruddites.
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