Let’s not get too snotty about Albo’s Tourette’s slip

Today, a toothpaste-white SUV swivelled down a busy street I happened to be walking down. She at the wheel screeched through her window at a man she’d been arguing with, as he retreated to his shop: “D--kless wonder!” As I waited to cross the road, it struck me that while the insult was hackneyed, puerile and mindless, I would not have relished being on its, um, end.

In an era of unrestraint, partisan bombast and ritualised attention-seeking, the humble insult finds itself in a state of confusion. It’s a diminished art, practised by many. There’s a dearth and a surfeit. The basket overflows, but the fruits?

The prime minister during question time on Tuesday.Credit: AAPIMAGE

Peter Dutton, aspirant leader of 26 million, calls his opponent “a child in a man’s body”. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese makes a Tourette’s faux pas. In the United States, Tim Walz dubs his rivals “just weird” – accurately, granted – and it’s deemed a masterstroke. Elon Musk, marshalling his charisma, labels a stranger “pedo guy”. In arguments, he enlightened us, “you insult people”.

Where am I going with this? Confecting a socially responsible, sensitive reason for writing about insults might insult your intelligence. It’s neither responsible nor sensitive. It’s not even sensible. Still, it’s no more crackers than writing about, say, office etiquette or which wine goes with polenta, or that contemporary Australian conundrum: should a couple buying a fourth house be underwritten by couples saving up for a capsicum?

For better or worse, mostly worse, insults are part of life. Some of us are connoisseurs, some are not. But that inclination may fluctuate with our fortunes. When we’re flying, acrimony feels far beneath us. When we’re crawling uphill, on our knees in the world, we’re up for a glimpse of somebody else’s angst. The more you feel like desiccated toast, the more tantalising is MAFS. And it’s been scientifically proven that Desperate Housewives entices the human body in direct proportion to how doomed and dizzy that body is feeling.

The easiest insults to recall are the ones we copped. (How dare he/she do/say that, after all I’ve done for her/him?) But if asked to recall the most eviscerating thing you’ve said to a fellow human, memory may not be so keenly efficient. Perhaps I underestimate you? Maybe you’re proud of yours. Maybe it was a moment of soaring vengeance – a long-awaited moment, you served the dish so cold and pure that it froze the recipient’s lips forever. You wicked person. Most of us find the words when it’s much too late. For most of us, it’s safer that way.

Albanese, a man not known for invective, or disassembling adversaries, or even for entertaining rhetoric, should not be made to feel like Godzilla for his use of the word Tourette’s in parliament. Sure, a person living with Tourette’s might rightly take offence, but it was never the PM’s intention to upset those with the disorder. It was not unlike the sort of mistake all of us make from time to time.

And let’s not monster Patricia Karvelas, either, for repeating the word “schizophrenic” out of context on Radio National on Wednesday. Never a good idea, but you’d be a pretty spiritually parsimonious soul to hold that against a journalist of her integrity and civility.

When was the last time you went a week without referring to someone – even in private – as a lazy arse or hypo or some similarly thoughtless thing? We all say stupid stuff. And provided we don’t make it our modus operandi, we all deserve forgiveness, and usually the benefit of the doubt.

Not so long ago, Albanese’s remark would not have raised an eyebrow. In an odd way, that might’ve been a good thing. If we want healthy debate, if we want some things thrashed out, we have to expect a little give and take. When political figures are too restrained in their discourse, too measured, so is the agenda. We should loosen up, at least when the heat is on and something substantial is on the line. We can’t demand they plausibly resemble us, then castigate them for minor lapses – that is, for mistakes anybody but a robot makes. With the palm comes the dust.

None of which is to say it should be open muddy slather. In some ways, we’ve come a long way. There are insults designed to really hurt. Winston Churchill, accused of inebriation, told a woman it was perfectly true, but in the morning he’d be sober and she’d still be ugly. That kind of malice and emotional unintelligence can rot where it belongs.

Mahatma Gandhi was once asked what he thought of Western civilisation. He said he thought it would be a good idea. Passive resistance: works every time. Paul Keating called conservative stalwart Peter Reith “an empty vessel in a blue suit”. The house of insult has many rooms but pith is hard to beat. Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard put even more faith in brevity: “My opponent is a glob of snot.”

Let’s not get too snotty about Albanese’s slip.

James Hughes is a freelance writer.