When Political Factions Turn Into Shadow Governments: The Absurdity of Operation Rosny
Let me tell you, there’s something almost Shakespearean about the spectacle unfolding in Sydney’s ICAC hearings. A group of self-proclaimed ‘Reformers’—young, devout Catholics—decided the best way to ‘save’ the Liberal Party was to infiltrate it like a rogue cult, funnel cash through shell companies, and strong-arm branch members with threats of professional ruin. And at the center of it all? A lobbyist who casually jokes about euthanasia while claiming he’s ‘not a member’ of the faction he helped bankroll. Welcome to the twilight zone of Australian politics.
The ‘Reformers’ Were Never About Reform—They Were About Control
Let’s cut through the noise: these guys weren’t trying to ‘improve’ the Liberal Party. They were trying to replace it with a hyper-conservative, factional puppet regime. Their playbook reads like a dark comedy—using Catholic Schools NSW funds as slush money, recruiting Robert Assaf as their $135k-a-year ‘operative,’ and even blackmailing dissenters with career-ending threats. But here’s the kicker: they genuinely believed God had blessed their coup. When Assaf texted Michael O’Hara about ‘God granting victory’ in Coffs Harbour, he wasn’t being metaphorical. This wasn’t politics; it was divine mission creep.
What many overlook is how brazenly they weaponized religion. By framing their power grab as a ‘moral crusade,’ they cloaked naked ambition in piety. The result? A faction that saw dissent not as debate, but as heresy. And let’s be clear—this isn’t unique to the Liberals. The Reformers’ playbook mirrors tactics from U.S. evangelical networks and even far-right European movements. The global far-right has a template now: hijack institutions under the guise of ‘values,’ then purge the ‘unfaithful.’
Jeremy Greenwood: The Accidental Villain in a Dark Comedy
If you’re looking for a traditional ‘villain,’ Jeremy Greenwood is a frustrating choice. He’s the guy who co-founded Beckington—a company allegedly laundering donations through sham lobbying contracts—yet insists he was ‘just at a pub’ when the real scheming happened. His testimony is a masterclass in plausible deniability: ‘I didn’t know I was a Liberal member!’ he quipped after being suspended. But here’s what fascinates me: Greenwood isn’t a caricature. He’s a product of a system where political loyalty is traded like cryptocurrency. His defense? Not ignorance, but exhaustion. ‘The Reformers got too toxic,’ he shrugged. Translation: I stayed until the optics turned bad.
A detail that stands out is his relationship with Christian Ellis, the ‘missing witness’ now hiding in the UK. Greenwood claims Ellis ‘wants to testify’ but can’t due to ‘family reasons.’ Spare me. These guys aren’t victims of circumstance—they’re architects of a system where accountability is optional. And let’s not forget the irony: a man who worked for Opus Dei-linked schools is now dodging questions about political corruption. The line between faith and factionalism gets blurrier by the day.
The Real Story Here Isn’t About Scandal—It’s About Institutional Rot
Yes, the cash-for-favors deals and branch-stacking theatrics are juicy. But the deeper rot lies in how easily institutions like the Liberal Party became battlegrounds for shadow factions. When a senator’s aide can co-found a company that ‘employs’ faction members on six-figure salaries, you’re not looking at corruption—you’re looking at a parallel power structure. And the Reformers weren’t outliers. They were symptoms.
What this suggests is a party (and arguably a broader political culture) so obsessed with ideological purity that it’s forgotten how to govern. The NSW Liberals’ shock at finding a branch in ‘Nationals heartland’? That’s the political equivalent of waking up to find your house has been quietly converted into a cult headquarters. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: this happened because gatekeepers like Greenwood and the Perrottets were allowed to operate unchecked. When you prioritize factional loyalty over transparency, this is the inevitable result.
The Future of Political Factions: More Farce Than Reform
So where do we go from here? My guess? The Reformers will fade into the background, replaced by a new generation of ‘clean’ faces who’ll deny any connection. But the machinery they built—the slush funds, the coercive tactics, the God complex—won’t disappear. They’ll just go quieter, slicker. Maybe even digital.
What I wonder, though, is whether this scandal will force a reckoning. Will parties finally ban shadow companies funding factional wars? Doubtful. Will voters demand transparency? Maybe—but only if the media stops treating this like a soap opera and starts framing it as systemic decay. One thing’s certain: if politics keeps rewarding players like Greenwood, the next ‘Reformers’ are already in a pub, drafting their manifesto.
Final Thought: The Tragedy Beneath the Farce
The real tragedy here isn’t that a faction stacked branches. It’s that an entire generation of politicians has normalized backroom deals as ‘strategy.’ When Jean-Claude Perrottet can’t remember why he received $5,000 monthly payments, it’s not incompetence—it’s a culture where accountability is optional. And until voters stop shrugging at scandals like this, the cycle will continue. Because let’s face it: in an era of declining trust in institutions, the Reformers didn’t destroy the Liberal Party. They just exposed how hollow it’d become.
