Gillard’s not getting my bra.

Psst! Did ya hear? Australia now has its first ever, w-o-m-a-n prime minister.

Well, please forgive me for not sending my bra up in smoke in tribute or doing a jig on shards of shattered (ceiling) glass.

This so-called historical moment is not cause for celebration.

Am I the only woman who sees Julia Gillard’s recent promotion as a backward compliment? A position that apparently could only be hers after a gush of political bloodletting?

What’s so historical about the result of this recent political poo-fight? Is it the fact that a prime minister was ousted because he made a few unpopular decisions? Er, no that’s been done before, sorry Gough.

Or is it because a woman flung a few knives into her colleague’s pinstripes and got his job – oh I get it. Right. Historical.

You see – the fact she’s the first PM in Aussie political history doesn’t do it for me. The way Gillard scored her new gig lacks integrity. Hers was an ‘endorsement’ of convenience. She happened to be at the right place, at the right time – with a set of ovaries. Period.

If Julia had swept into power after an inspirational campaign built on powerful rhetoric and policies (and the odd baby-kissing photo op), I’d be impressed. Celebrating. Relishing this true historic moment when a woman fought and won the top job in a male-dominated sandpit. That would be a victory.

Instead, Gillard is now ‘running’ the country (alongside Santa and the Tooth Fairy) as a result of closed-door machinations ostensibly by men in $100 suits and billion dollar agendas.

As the news broke that Julia had ‘done it’ in Canberra, women in cyberspace were quickly firing up their twitter vitriol –

‘Why are all women with the top political jobs called puppets?!’ one twit raved.

Not all women, love – just those who are ushered into their positions by a bunch of fat men with greased palms.

The Kristina Kenneallys and Julia Gillards of this world have both won their stellar titles through backbiting, gossip, jostling behind the scenes – another day out with the girls then.

Feminism. Wow. We’ve come a long way. 

Now of course we’ll have countless column inches on Julia’s skirt length, shade of lipgloss and whether she keeps her red bob or chops it off in favour of a ‘Kevin Rudd’ – silver short back and sides, anyone?

It’s outrageous that the potential of strong female political leaders has twice been overshadowed by faction fighting and wee hour plotting.

By celebrating Gillard’s new appointment, we’re condoning backbench bitching as the only way a woman can make it as PM of this country.

I get it, politics is dirty. But the anointing of a woman PM should’ve been stuffed full of pomp and ceremony – not sullied by a group of grubby little men with mobiles and ulterior motives.

So no. I’m not excited about Gillard’s new gig in Canberra. I couldn’t care less.

And if My Big Mouth tags me as going against the sisterhood, ignoring the plight of hardworking, ambitious women in this country, so be it.

Or to paraphrase the ‘oestrogened’ anthem –

I am heretic, hear me roar.

© Phyllis Foundis 2010