Gather round, you concerned voter who can’t quite get your head around/ seemingly DGAF about the impending #LibSpill, you.
Canberra Westeros has recently descended into veritable chaos while its leader is playing the Game of Thrones too hard, too stupidly, without tact. War has now been declared: C-bombs are flying, knives are at the ready – precariously poised to strike another’s back, crows are being sent back and forth in a frenzy, and blood will soon be strewn across the House of Representatives in such thick swathes that it will, in a matter of days, resemble the décor of The Senate.
With speculation reaching fever pitch about the leadership of the Coalition—vague op-eds about Bishop and Turnbull are being scattered across the land, little to no meaning in sight—a spill of the caucus could be possible: after all, Labor certainly wasn’t immune to it, so the Coalition shouldn’t be either.
LibSpill is here, and so are your Westeros heroes. Allow us to introduce A Song Of ~Knights~ and Fire by breaking down your feature cast with their Canberra-based counterparts. Here is your Guide To The #LibSpill War As Told Through Game Of Thrones.
nb: this guide does not strictly adhere to any particular G.O.T timeline—leave me be—but there are, naturally, various low key spoilers ahead.
Young Joff, that snivelling creature who wants the throne purely for the throne, is currently none other than Prime Minister Tony Abbott. What else did you expect? Tone as Arya Stark, FFS? Leave, please.
The resemblance is uncanny, the lust for power is on par, the playground bully vibes are on point. But Abbott, learn of Joffrey’s fate, and despair.
Cersei Lannister, owner of a killer resting bitch face and always focused on whichever conniving plan is afoot, is your deputy leader of the Liberal party, Julie Bishop. Cersei has to show unconditional loyalty to her bratty and ridiculous King of a son—blood is thicker than water—but we know her desire to run the joint, hell, destroy the joint, is burning. One day the seven kingdoms could be hers.
Tywin Lannister, the mastermind of the house behind closed doors, is the powerful, the gatekeeper to all the cash, the evil Joe Hockey. He too couldn’t care less for his grandson Abbott, but the veneer of his loyalty is crystal clear. He’s forever ineligible for the throne, instead he watches on as his party spawn play with his money, backtrack on policy, and make the budget a fucking nightmare. He’ll never get the throne.
Believe me, I am horrified about the plot implications of the incestual relations between Jaime—Scott Morrison—and Cersei—Julie Bishop, here. It is confronting and frightening, but then again, so is the LNP. Scott Morrison can only be likened to Jaime Lannister for his bravery: bravery for introducing absolutely appalling immigration policy, and then shimmying unceremoniously out of the role altogether, like Jaime at the clutches of the Starks. Disgustingly played, you sly dog.
Tyrion is easily the most charismatic Lannister, and quite possibly the smartest Lannister. He’s virtually exiled from his own family, but everyone else has a soft spot for him: the man speaks with passion. The desire for the throne, however, is his Achilles heal; he can’t have it—remember the Liberal party leadership spill in 2009?—that single second-round vote decided his fate forever, leaving him eternally (and, symbolically)
illegible ineligible. Poor Malcolm Turnbull.
Is everyone fully aware who our Deputy Prime Minister of Australia is? Nope, not Bishop. It’s leader of the Nationals Warren Truss. Like Pycelle, Warren Truss is always there, always old, always falling asleep, always bored. Occasional wise jibes may emerge from him, but little else. Truss is there, but forgotten.
You can’t spell “Baelish” without “bae”, which is totally irrelevant and couldn’t be further from the description of our G.O.T matchup with Christopher Pyne. Littlefinger’s grubby ways couldn’t align more perfectly with that of Pyne, however – an A Grade mastermind, a total dark shadow lurker, a man so game he would call the deputy opposition a “C U Next Tuesday”, on national television, on a whim. You have to respect, but fear, this brand of evil.
GEORGE R.R MARTIN
What do you call a man who’s all talk, and no work?
George R.R Martin Bill Shorten, that’s who.
The Khaleesi has spent a long time hanging out on the edges of the action, slowly but surely solidifying her power, biding her time until she can storm King’s Landing, dragons blazing. She’s more than a little like Labor’s Tanya Plibersek, presently coiled in opposition, and waiting to strike.
Poor Catelyn Stark – we had such high hopes for her at the beginning, only to watch as she was knifed brutally by the people she thought were her friends and allies. She is, of course, Julia Gillard, who most likely watches the Red Wedding on repeat while sitting in a darkened room in her track pants, her shirtfront and fingers covered in Pizza Shapes’ crumbs, thinking, “bastards“.
The leaders of House Stark have an awful habit of getting murdered by those they thought they could trust. Before Julia got the axe, it was Kevin Rudd, who was executed in spectacular fashion in front of a startled and enthralled crowd. Loved by the people but despised by his opposition, we remember your short-lived reign, Rudd.
Much like Penny Wong, plucky little Arya always comes out swinging, no matter how those around her fail and disappoint her. Arya was told she could never use a sword because she was a girl. Penny was told, by her own party, no less, that the very idea of her getting married was un-Australian. And here we are: she’s pretty much the only Stark left standing now. She is the hero and she is the PM labor-loyalists would fight for.
The mysterious power behind the scenes, Abbott’s chief of staff and political advisor Peta Credlin is probably calling way more shots than you’d think, rather like the demure and lovely, Margaery Tyrell, who is quietly doing her best to run Westeros from behind the scenes.
Hodor, the beloved mono-speaking friendly giant, is, of course, Clive Palmer. Round and relatively loveable, Clive’s “hodor” phrase of choice would probably be “dinosaurs” or, “money”, or something like that.
A supposedly impartial figure at the literal centre of power who does a terrible job of hiding his allegiances and who also lacks the balls, literal and otherwise, to get anything done? Hey Bronwyn Bishop, Varys called, he wants his schtick back.
Of relatively minor political significance as far as #auspol is concerned, except for being on the receiving end of a c-bomb this morning, Anthony Albanese is the loveable deputy to Bill Shorten, who often wears a dumb grin and does things like present on Rage for kicks. I’m not sure where these comparisons are going, tbh, because if
Labor House Stark ever does lead, that would leave Sam as its deputy PM. Sounds great!
You know nothing, Canberra, says fairfax’s prolific political reporter, Latika Bourke. Her tweets are as sharp and as keenly aimed as Ygritte’s arrows, and she is an absolute legend.
Not a particularly nice bloke, but involved in the whole mess anyhow: Prince Philip is Viserys Targaryen.
THE KNIGHT’S WATCH
They’re the rag-tag bunch of friends and foes who Westeros relies on to keep shit in check – a mixture of weary old folks and youngsters keen to make their mark, they are basically the last line of defence. They’ve taken a vow to deal with the House of Reps’ BS, and they are brutal. They are The Senate, and you, like the Knight’s watch, cannot name who they all are.
THE WHITE WALKERS
Even though a lot of folks on the sunnier side of the wall don’t care to think about the fact that the White Walkers are coming, they’re slowly but inexorably making their way south, and when they arrive, it’s going to be a huge shit-fight. Ahoy, climate change, you fit into this metaphor like a dream.
Solid, strong, immovable – you, dear reader, are The Mountain, because this is a democracy, and you’re the strongest thing in it.