Morris Iemma may lead one of the least competent governments in Australian history, but he long ago realised the immense value of saying sorry.

Every bungle that has occurred on his watch has elicited an immediate apology, with Iemma appearing on the news to declare how sorry he is, particularly if any Sydneysiders have been mildly inconvenienced. Even NSW Labor’s campaign slogan for the March election, “More to do but we’re heading in the right direction” had an air of apologia about it.

This initially appeared to be a simple effort to make up for his own incompetence and that of his inept Ministers. However, it looks increasingly like an entirely new model of statesmanship.

21st century western political leaders, particularly at the regional or state level, are confined to a narrow set of political and administrative parameters: budget surpluses or small deficits are required by ratings agencies, while the public’s demand for health, education and police services is balanced only by its dislike of new taxes. Without a convenient resources boom, such governments are doomed to undertake the Sisyphean task of meeting infinite public expectations with limited funding. And when Ministers are mostly incompetent party hacks, and the senior public service has become hopelessly politicised, any faint chance of success in such an endeavour is reduced to zero.

In such circumstances, the only viable option for a government is to continually demonstrate its empathy with its anguished citizenry. Thus Iemma eternally appears, hands raised in supplication, sorry for failing to get it right – but what can he do? This is the way the world is, Iemma seems to be saying. I can’t raise taxes or spend more. But I do feel your pain.

Yesterday’s decision by the NSW Government to declare this Friday the clunkily-named “Terrorism and Homicide Victims Day” is an extension of this approach. On Friday (the fifth anniversary of the Bali bombings), NSW will “remember those who died or were injured as a result of terrorism or violence… the families left behind, and the police and emergency staff so often caught up and affected by these tragedies.”

However laudable the aim of remembering those who have died violently, and acknowledging the emergency services who have to handle the aftermath, it’s hard not to see this as part of the fetishisation of grief that, enthusiastically whipped along by the mainstream media, has become a permanent feature of Australian society. Politicians have been quick to try to cash in, notably with offers of State funerals for celebrities whose deaths causes sufficiently lavish outpourings of public emotion. Now Iemma is attempting to co-opt remembrance for victims of crime to show how in tune he is with a public otherwise distracted by the meltdown of the NSW health system.

The statecraft of sorrow now has another stage to perform on.

And should this day of remembrance strike a public chord, expect more public ceremonies led by stern-faced politicians and plenty of media enthusiasm, with TV coverage, the obligatory acronym, “THV Day”, plastered across newspaper liftouts, and memorabilia to enable ordinary citizens to show their participation.

For the media, cash is always the sincerest form of remembrance.