Why is no one talking about the politicisation of public sector plants!?
Article by Charlie Lewis, courtesy of Crikey.
Ah would that it were National Mining Day every day. Where else could we get the peerless insights of mining magnate Gina Rinehart (except, oh yeah, literally everywhere)? In her address this week, she called for sensible and workable policies like “sell the ABC radio, and close the ABC TV” as part of her plan to cut government expenditure to allow for — you’ll never guess — tax cuts. One particular aspect of her pitch stood out to us:
“Cut out expenditure on the Environmental Defenders Office, sell the pot plants and artefacts from all the departments and agencies offices (let them bring in their own), these are just some of many opportunities to cut expenditure and wastage to make way for tax cuts,” Rinehart said at the event on Tuesday.
It’s perhaps not surprising that Rinehart thinks any money spent on making life a touch more bearable for a giant workforce would be better used lightening her tax burden — indeed, we’re amazed she didn’t suggest dropping civil servants’ remuneration to compete with certain international standards.
Still, we have questions. Mainly, how and to whom are we selling second-hand pot plants to? Like, on Gumtree or something? Beyond that, what is it about pot plants in particular that invites such ire against public servants?
Every few years there is a mini-campaign against money spent on getting a bit more oxygen flowing through government workplaces.
In 2020, a particularly big year for politicised plants, then shadow assistant minister for government accountability, the late Kimberley Kitching, dedicated herself to uncovering this scourge — it was her request that revealed the fact that over two years, Australia Post spent over $700K on pot plants and indoor plant buddies in their offices. This was back when then CEO Christine Holgate was being portrayed as a villain rather than a hero.
In June that year, the New South Wales Department of Planning approved a contract worth $1,246,000 for the indoor plants in the 4 Parramatta Square building; we’ll grant that the optics of this priority weren’t great, given the government was at the time imposing a public sector wage freeze.
Also in 2020, the Department of Parliamentary Services spent $520,819.20 on landscaping the courtyard garden outside the VIP dining room in Parliament House.
But even more modest sums have attracted attention; in 2013, the state Labor opposition in Western Australia went after the government for spending $60,000 buying and hiring plants and flowers over a three-month period.
Why is there nothing equivalent on how much is spent on, say, half-decent coffee or couches for the break room, or maintaining those filtered water taps that make it a bit quicker to have a cup of tea, or Tim Tams, or any other number of not-technically essential items which, totalled up, sounds like quite a lot but in reality rarely qualifies as anything more than a rounding error in overall government spending?
It also put us in mind of a tangential event — well, if we’re being honest, it’s the kind of thing we’re always thinking about: In 2018, The Australian, looking for something into which they could channel their fury at the ongoing existence of the ABC, attempted to conjure a controversy against the national broadcaster so nebulous, so insubstantial, that to this day we’re still not entirely sure what was being hinted at. We’re referring, of course, to the “mystery” surrounding who had stood in for a Liberal politician during an ABC reenactment of the drama surrounding the overthrow of Malcolm Turnbull:
The ABC has refused to clarify for two days whether its top political editor posed as a bullying MP in a staged reenactment of the treatment of female Liberal MPs during the leadership turmoil in Canberra.
Mystery surrounds the identity of the person — possibly the ABC political editor Andrew Probyn — who appears in the scene with his face obscured by objects, including an office pot plant.
It was enough for much for the press gallery, often keen to avoid a fight with campaign-happy Oz, to openly take the piss out of.