You Either Die A National, Or Live Long Enough To Become An Independent

ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Barnaby Joyce stood somewhat alone in the House of Representatives on Thursday afternoon, delivering the closest thing Canberra has ever seen to a Christopher Nolan monologue. He did not quote Batman directly, although he came dangerously close. You either die a hero, or live long enough to become the villain. In Barnaby's case, you either die a National, or stay in the party long enough to become the exact kind of independent you spent twenty years warning the good people of New England about.

It was a cinematic moment even if the Nationals benches were notably empty. Barnaby, now politically single and ready to mingle, admitted that he had been forced into this. A complete breakdown of communication. A total collapse of trust. A sense that no one in the party bothered to talk to him anymore. He had been relegated to what he called the ejection seat on the backbench, a location that in political geography sits somewhere between Napoleon's Elba or, God forbid, his Saint Helena. He took aim at his old leadership team for failing to listen to him. It was heartbreak disguised as principle. A awkward breakup spiel delivered with strangers listening.

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