With Peter Dutton beckoning South African farmers to step to the front of the immigration queue and ignoring everyone else, who he loves is obvious.



Last night, Peter Dutton, the man who only discovered that he had a heart all along, decided that white South African farmers needed to step all the way to the front of our immigration line. This morning, the South Africans said no thanks. Much like the tin man in the Wizard of Oz, Peter has come to the sudden bountiful realisation that he now has the ability for empathy, and thusly is now making up for lost time.

Sadly, his heart is an organ he has no idea how to play.

The first instance was the first time we ever got wind of Peter’s feelies was back in February, when he openly wept at the scope of his own accomplishment, waterworks enabled by the congratulations aimed at his general direction, in reference to the story of his department deporting the killer of a man’s tragically dead son.

The whole situation revealed itself on the radio with the father of the victim, Steve Miller, stating: “…on that day at about 2pm, I was advised by a journalist that he’d walked free. I got on to Peter Dutton’s office in Canberra, he was unavailable at the time, he was in parliament, and he rang me back at 4.30pm…he got onto the Queensland Police and Border Force immediately and that illegal immigrant was taken back into custody by 6.30pm that night and held for deportation to New Zealand.”

Dutton’s action is the above story is eyewatering. How rapid progress is when you’re heart is in it. Turning to the South African issue, Dutton crested to News Corp: “We have the potential to help some of these people that are being persecuted” and said he wanted to explore whether the farmers could access visas or humanitarian programs…people do need help and they need help from a civilised country like ours.”

Which is a very sweet thing to say Peter, but what of those slightly closer? I won’t say the actual name of the place, but it rhymes with Banus Biland. What of that Potemkin collection of the unfortunately persecuted, brutalised by unfair circumstance on racial grounds in their own country. If you cut them do they not also bleed?

Similar problems they face do they not, hmm?

Similarly, what of the Rohingyas you refused to disclose if you sent them back to Myanmar, or the Tamil family your department gave ten minutes to collect their possessions before booting them out of the country, or the minority Afghan Hazara refugees delayed their citizenship, despite submitting everything correctly, to the point that they’ve rung the lawyers. All three minorities above face persecution upon returning to the shores they escaped from. But clearly, we can’t protect them.

There’s a unifying theme here. Perhaps it’s not just of colour, but rather in the manner of how the situation unfolded. They come to us, they’re going to have a problem. We cherry pick you, welcome to Australia, cobb.

Love doesn’t work that way, Peter. Love, as Massive Attack taught us, is a verb, love is a doing word.

This isn’t love, this is very selective fucking.

Perhaps the original Tin Man said it best, “…now I know I’ve got a heart, because it’s breaking.




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