The Australian Budget Fairytale

Milton became chief of Soco Island when he was 21. Not because he was the smartest or the son of the previous chief. The Five hundred people who lived there voted him boss because he was the fattest and on Soco that’s how they did things. They had no Television, so they weren’t influenced by the body fascism of modern media which celebrates skinny models who look like a good feed would kill them.

Milton enjoyed the free fish that came with the job but he was weighed down by the responsibilities. The islanders were having lots of babies and there was only so much fish to go around. And it wasn’t only food that his people were interested in. The braver ones had been to the big island 50km away and came back with wide eyed stories of four wheel drive trucks and mobile phones.

So Milton got into a boat himself and travelled to the big island to meet the chief there. He wasn’t crazy about what he found, particularly the fish which arrived on his plate covered in batter and rectangular in shape. Milton didn’t get his feet wet much, but he reckoned he’d never seen a fish that shape.

Nevertheless he realised that if he wanted his island to develop, he’d have to embrace some of the nastiness of the big world. The big island chief offered Milton a loan. “Money”, he said, “makes the world go round and if you don’t have it you’ll fall off”.

The big chief loaned him $1,000,000 and said he could pay it back in ten years. But in the meantime, he’d have to pay $100,000 a year in interest. Milton reckoned that would mean paying back the money twice, so the big chief sat him down in front of his wide screen TV (something else that was new to Milton) and showed him a DVD of the Sopranos. “If you don’t like my offer, you can borrow the money from those boys.”

Milton got the message and took the cash back to the Island. He called a tribal meeting and told the elders to split the money between their families and to invest it wisely. The elders scratched their heads. They had never seen money before and the word “invest” didn’t exist in their language. They were nearly as confused with “wisely” until one of them remembered old man Lopopo who could tell if the rains were coming. He was considered wise, but only because nobody knew that he had rheumatism.

Milton saw their confusion and said, “I don’t know. Build things. Houses that tourists can stay in, landing strips that the American air force can land on. Massage parlours for the air force personnel and maybe a garage in case someone buys a car.” The elders shrugged and went back their villages. But money burns a hole in whatever pocket it is placed in and pretty soon the island had a new jetty where expensive tourist boats docked and cafes and restaurants were they ate the fish the islanders used to use for fertilizer.

A year later, Milton had to travel to the big island to pay the first interest instalment. He called the elders together and asked for contributions. They grumbled about having to give up their new found shiny God, but Milton threatened to ban alcohol which had recently become popular on the island and they were happy to cough up.

When he got to the big chief’s house, he found that another visitor had gotten there first. “This is Mr. Reagan from the International Monetary Fund. We’ve been a bit loose on the big island Milton and it looks like we’re bust. We’re handing everything over to these guys including the debt you owe us. So he might have a few questions.”

Mr. Reagan studied Milton for a moment with the cold eyes of an assassin. “How much does your island owe to the outside world?” he asked.

“I guess we owe them $1,000,000”, Milton answered as he glanced at the big chief for support. The big chief was busy studying his own feet however and was clearly embarrassed at having dragged Milton into the sorry mess of Capitalism.

“And how much did you pay out to your people this year and how much did you collect from them”.

“Well I gave them the $1,000,000 and yesterday they gave me back $100,000”.

Mr. Reagan pulled out a calculator from his briefcase and furiously punched numbers into it. “I’m afraid your situation is quite dire Mr. Milton. You have a current account shortfall of $900,000 and a deficit of $1,000,000. If you’re looking for support from the IMF, we’ll have to insist on taxes of 50% and all public servants getting sacked, as well as hospitals being closed down and pensions being abolished.”

It took Milton a moment to digest all this. The words being thrown around were not common in his village. “The thing is Mr. Reagan, we don’t have a hospital. Old mother Kidolo is good with herbs and she can normally fix you up. We don’t have a pension because old people get looked after by their families and the fishermen give them all the fish they can’t sell. I don’t have any public servants, unless you count Bidolo the village idiot who bangs the gong when I want to summon the elders. I could sack him but I don’t pay him anyway. He just likes banging the gong.

“Anyway, Mr. Reagan, I’m not looking for your help. I just came to pay this year’s interest. My people are prosperous and we’ll pay back this debt in no time”.

Milton got a receipt for his payment and made his back to his own island, basking in the glory of having seen off the big world for another year at least. When he got there, the elders were waiting on the new jetty looking excited. “We had a visitor while you were away. Some guy called Kevin Rudd was here. He said he’d heard about the money you gave us and how we all became rich. He said he has to write something called a budget this week and he will base it on us”

“That’s great”, said Milton. “I’ve just said goodbye to the big chief. He’s made a mess of his island. So he’s heading off to somewhere called Ireland. They have offered him a job as Minister for Finance”.