Lazarus Rising
Despite being aware, from closely following events in Canberra, that a lot of government legislation had been blocked, it came as a surprise to me when the opposition threatened to block supply in April 1974.
The catalyst had been Whitlam’s appointment of the DLP senator and former Queensland Premier Vince Gair as Australian Ambassador to Ireland. This appointment was designed to ensure there would be a sixth Senate vacancy from Queensland in the half-Senate election which Whitlam had called for 18 May 1974. If six vacancies were being filled from Queensland, there was a chance that the ALP could win control of the Senate. But Whitlam would be outsmarted in this ploy by the Premier of Queensland, Joh Bjelke-Petersen, who advised the Queensland Governor to issue the writs for the five Senate vacancies from that state normally up for election, separately from the vacancy caused by Gair’s appointment to Ireland. This meant that the Gair vacancy would be treated as a casual one; under the Constitution, casual Senate vacancies are filled by state parliaments.
There was plenty of Coalition outrage over the Gair Affair, and a lot of Liberal supporters wanted an early poll, but in the broader community, although there was growing disillusionment with the Whitlam Government, there was still a fundamental sense that the Government should be given a fair go. After all, Vince Gair had not been the first politically expedient diplomatic appointment. To my mind, the most reprehensible feature of the whole affair was Gair’s betrayal of his own party, the DLP, by doing the political bidding of the ALP for personal advancement. He was deservedly expelled from the DLP. It was the beginning of the end for the party. Its remaining senators would lose their seats in the coming election.
Whitlam responded to the Coalition threat by seeking and obtaining from the Governor-General, Sir Paul Hasluck, a double dissolution based on previous Senate rejection of several government bills. The election was to be on the same date, 18 May, originally chosen for a quiet half-Senate poll. In a double dissolution election, every Senate seat is vacant, so the original shenanigans about the Gair vacancy became academic.
Personally, I was pleased at the prospect of an early election. Within the space of a week, I went from being an endorsed Liberal candidate for an election still at least 18 months away to being someone who should start campaigning immediately. At long last I could get my teeth into the real business of winning a seat in parliament.
Naturally I campaigned entirely in Bennelong. My campaign was opened at St Mark’s Anglican Church hall in Hunters Hill by Andrew Peacock, shadow minister for Foreign Affairs. He was destined in the years ahead to play a major role in my political life. The local campaign attracted plenty of helpers.
Local branches of the ALP voted to install the left-wing legal activist Jim Staples as their Bennelong candidate. The Labor Party head office, however, would not have a bar of Staples, so they imposed the writer, and Whitlam confidant, Richard Hall as the ALP candidate.
Although I had nervous moments, particularly on the night of the election before the first results came in, deep down I expected to win Bennelong. I was far from sure, however, about the overall result. Whitlam campaigned extremely well, and was able to exploit the claim that his government had not been given a fair go. On the face of it this was a good argument. There had been a Coalition Government for 23 years, yet after less than 18 months the newly elected Labor Government had been forced to go back to the people by the non-Labor majority in the Senate.
One of the problems the Coalition had was that it had not really completed serious policy work when the election was called. This made it easier for Whitlam to claim that we were not ready for government. Much play was made of an intensive policy weekend which produced the Coalition’s manifesto ‘The Way Ahead'. Policy written in the pressure cooker of a weekend, in the shadow of an election which has already been called, is unlikely to be well thought through.
For my campaign we had established an office in Lane Cove Plaza. Although she was five months pregnant, Janette worked very hard and thoroughly enjoyed the campaign. She is a meticulous organiser and kept me and many others up to the mark with campaign tasks. I treated it as a marginal seat campaign.
Bennelong had scores of active community groups, particularly in areas of nature conservation. It also had, in 1974, an active Women’s Electoral Lobby, which played a particularly prominent role in the campaign with candidates’ forums, questionnaires and the like. The convener of the Bennelong WEL was Janelle Kidman, mother of Nicole. She, her husband, Antony, and children lived in the electorate at Longueville. They were strong Labor supporters.
They were cordial to me but I had no doubt that the majority of WEL’s members were sympathetic to Labor’s social agenda. The main WEL meeting was held at the Lane Cove Town Hall, attended by hundreds of people. I was asked my opinion about abortion; not surprisingly my rather conservative response caused an audible intake of breath from most of those in the audience. I hadn’t tried to sugar-coat the reply; that wins no one’s respect. On sensitive social issues it is always desirable to be direct and clear.
On polling day, 18 May 1974, it rained heavily all day, and must have been a nightmare for the booth workers. There were a record number of candidates for the Senate, and as a consequence the large how-to-vote papers became very sodden and cumbersome. It was a long day as I worked my way around each of the 34 polling booths in the electorate.
I went home to our unit in Wollstonecraft for dinner at 7 pm. I didn’t eat a lot, as I was very nervous. Janette’s parents came over for dinner and drove up to the campaign office with us. I had arranged for my mother to come to the office with one of my brothers. Wal and Stan had worked on polling booths during the day. We all waited in the campaign rooms, the arrangement being that as soon as a booth count had been completed, a scrutineer would ring through the result.
The first result was rung through at about 8.38 pm, and it was from the Congregational hall in Lane Cove. They were good figures, showing a lift in the Liberal vote of about 6 per cent. Figures then came in rapidly, and it became very apparent that not only had I won, but I had increased the majority won by Cramer in 1972. I had no reason to get delusions of grandeur, but it had been a good outcome. Nonetheless, Bennelong was not as blue-ribbon as Bradfield or North Sydney. The two-party-preferred Liberal vote was only 53–54 per cent. I would need to work hard. Having, at the age of 34, achieved my longstanding ambition to be a member of the national parliament, I had every intention of doing just that.
There had been a small swing against the Labor Government nationwide, its majority falling from nine to five seats. The Senate count took six weeks to complete, with the ALP picking up an extra three seats in the upper house. The initial reaction had been that Snedden had fought a good campaign and there was little doubt that he would be re-elected unopposed as leader. Nevertheless there remained, amongst many, real doubts about him as leader in the longer term. I shared those doubts. Even then I was attracted to Malcolm Fraser as a possible leader of the party. It was a tough judgement to make, but to me Bill Snedden seemed out of his depth as leader against Whitlam. There was too much bluster and not enough substance. He did not have strong philosophical positions on anything. I barely knew Fraser, but he seemed to have policy substance and clear attitudes on certain foreign policy issues.
Ironically, given his later change of heart on the issue, I had first been drawn to Fraser several years earlier when he had strongly and effectively argued the case for Australia’s involvement in Vietnam. He did a much better job than any other minister, or either Holt or Gorton. Fraser had presence and seemed to possess that streak of toughness and ruthlessness needed in a political leader. Although economic policy would dominate so much of my political thinking and action in the years ahead, at the time I entered parliament, foreign affairs was uppermost in my mind. It seemed that Malcolm Fraser’s attitudes on this subject were very close to mine.
After the election I remained a partner in my firm. There was no conflict of interest and I wanted to retain as much contact with the law as possible, feeling that this added to my usefulness as a member of parliament. Naturally I was not able to do as much work.
John Cramer had maintained his electorate office in the Commonwealth Bank building in Martin Place. So I decided, for the time being, to follow suit. Many of my federal colleagues from New South Wales, such as John Carrick and Bob Cotton, also had their offices there. It is a stylish old building and was used for cabinet, ministerial and parliamentary purposes up until the mid-1980s, when the Hawke Government finally agreed to the repeated urgings of the bank and shifted the last of the cabinet and ministerial facilities to the current Commonwealth Parliamentary Office in 70 Phillip Street, where they remain to this day.
7 THE HONOURABLE MEMBER FOR BENNELONG
When I took my seat in federal parliament in 1974, Islamic extremism was unknown to the world. International politics was still shaped by the Cold War; the Berlin Wall stood as a metaphor for all that divided East and West. Australian politics reflected that mindset; our nation was still in the slipstream of the fierce and divisive debate regarding our involvement in the Vietnam War.
There was still a serious constituency within Australia for the state having a larger share of the economic pie. In his budget speech on 17 September 1974, the Treasurer, Frank Crean, said, ‘The relatively subdued conditions in prospect in the private sector provide the first real opportunity we have had to transfer resources to the public sector.’1 He saw the private sector’s adversity as the public sector’s opportunity. Thirty-five years later, another Labor Treasurer would justify spending a large budget surplus in the name of shoring up, not replacing, the private sector.
The new parliament, to which I had been elected as the member for Bennelong, assembled for the first time on 9 July 1974. It was an unforgettable day for me. The sheer awe of entering the House of Representatives for the first time as an elected member is a feeling which has stayed with me ever since. Although I was a member of parliament for more than 33 years, I never lost my sense of respect, indeed a nervous edge, at being in that House of Representatives chamber.
As a new boy I soaked it all up. With Janette, by then heavily pregnant, I drove to Canberra for the opening ceremonies. My brother Bob sat in the public gallery with Janette to watch the swearing-in ceremony. The older hands were immensely courteous to the new members. David Fairbairn and his wife, Ruth, took Janette and me to lunch, making us feel very much at home. David had a distinguished war record in the Royal Australian Air Force: he had been awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC); and was an old-school gentleman. That evening there was a formal reception in Kings Hall in Parliament House, a building richly steeped in Australian history.
There was a party meeting at which the new members were welcomed. Bill Snedden and Phillip Lynch were re-elected unopposed as leader and deputy leader, but not before some jousting over whether or not the ballots should then proceed, given that the Senate count had not been completed, and the final composition of the parliamentary party not determined. This suggested to me that, even at this very early stage after an election, there was some unease within the parliamentary party about the direction in which it was heading.
After the week of the swearing-in, we next assembled at the historic joint sitting of the two houses of parliament, on 18 July, to consider and pass the legislation blocked by the Senate in the previous parliament, and on which the double dissolution of 18 May 1974 had been granted. It was historic because on the two previous occasions when a double dissolution had been granted, the Government had either been defeated at the polls (1914) or had won control of the Senate (1951), in which latter event no joint sitting was needed, as it had the numbers in both houses to pass the bills on which the double dissolution had been granted.
The Constitutional provisions covering double dissolutions had been inserted to provide a mechanism to resolve deadlocks between the two houses. They therefore allow a joint sitting of the two houses when a government has been returned at a double-dissolution election, but without a majority in the Senate. That was Whitlam’s position in 1974.
In the course of that week, I got to know many of my new parliamentary colleagues, and found that I was to share an office in a remote part of the house with my fellow NSW MPs David Connolly from Bradfield and Alan Cadman from Mitchell. They had also been elected for the first time at the 1974 poll.
The room was very crowded. At that time I smoked cigarettes, and so did Alan Cadman. It must have been stifling for David Connolly, a non-smoker, but he displayed considerable forbearance.
Unquestionably the larger New Parliament House has given excellent office facilities to the ordinary member and senator. Everyone now has some staff, and working conditions are a world away from what they were in the old building. Something has, however, been lost in the process. There is far less camaraderie. In the old building not only did the average member and senator have to share a room with one or two other colleagues, but this very fact resulted in many of the members and senators spending a lot more time in the party room. It functioned as a common room. It was immediately adjacent to a side entrance to the parliamentary chamber, and a frequent occurrence, after a division had occurred, was for members to wander into the party room to talk, make telephone calls or read newspapers. I know that this sounds faintly nostalgic, but it does have a real impact on the atmosphere of a parliament. It can dramatically change the group dynamic of a political party, especially during times of internal crisis.
Several long-serving members, such as Jim Forbes, Bert Kelly and Duke Bonnett, went out of their way to make new members welcome. We spent some relaxed time in the parliamentary bar, listening to the veterans. Jim and Duke were veterans of war as well. Jim Forbes had won a Military Cross in World War II, and Duke had served in the airborne units, or paras. They were generous with their time and friendship, teaching me a great deal about both good political representation and human nature.
During my very first days in parliament, Malcolm Fraser, shadow minister for industrial relations, saw to it that I joined him and several other colleagues for afternoon tea. He wasn’t overtly touting for support, but had taken the trouble to demonstrate an interest in new members. I already had a good view of his abilities and I listened keenly to what he had to say. He argued that the Coalition had to produce policy alternatives, not just oppose the Government.
For a brand-new member, the joint sitting was an amazing experience. All members and senators were seated in the House of Representatives chamber; there were special rules of procedure for the sitting, which was fully televised. Bill Snedden wisely used it as a forum to continue his general attack on the Government’s handling of the economy. Economic conditions were deteriorating quite rapidly, and further debate on the substance of the bills which had been blocked in the previous parliament was largely academic. Those bills were going to be passed at the joint sitting. I was placed at the joint sitting with John Carrick and Margaret Guilfoyle from the Senate, and one of my fellow new members, Alan Cadman. John and Margaret were very helpful.
Being a new member who was yet to make his maiden speech, I naturally did not participate in any of the debates at the joint sitting. I was pleased about this, as it was, uniquely, an opportunity to listen to speakers from both sides, and for the first time make my own assessments of their respective abilities. I was tremendously impressed with Kim Beazley (father of the subsequent Opposition leader), the Labor Education Minister, who was a very powerful orator.
I joined several parliamentary and party committees and became secretary of the opposition’s education committee. The shadow minister for education was Jim Killen, and our main line of attack against Labor was its ambiguous policy towards helping independent schools. After the joint sitting, parliament resumed a more normal pattern, and I had my first opportunity of witnessing Whitlam’s performance at question time. He was a fine parliamentarian, much better than Snedden. With his sharp wit and rhetorical flourishes he was superior to anyone on our side. That, of course, was not enough. The economic situation was worsening, and already the Labor caucus was behaving in a completely undisciplined fashion.
Frank Crean was Treasurer at the time and had an unenviable task. The economy was sliding rapidly and he had a Prime Minister who would never back him on really major issues and was himself often responsible for unjustified increases in government spending. On top of this the Labor caucus reserved the right to overrule the cabinet on the detail of economic policy. This was precisely what happened to a statement announcing certain economic measures, deemed necessary by the Government, which Frank Crean had planned to make on 23 July 1974.
Most of those measures were rejected by the Labor caucus immediately before the statement was due to be delivered. It was too late to alter the statement, so Frank Crean was left with the highly embarrassing predicament of delivering a statement full of rhetoric about the Government’s determination to take control of a difficult situation, but without any announcements of substance to support it. It was hard not to feel sorry for him.
After this incident, it was obvious that Frank Crean’s days as Treasurer were numbered. Crean was no great believer in fiscal restraint, but he did have some idea of how difficult the Government’s challenge had become, due to changed international and domestic economic conditions. Inflation had become a big problem and unemployment had begun to rise. By contrast, Gough Whitlam not only failed or was unwilling to acknowledge the new realities, but appeared hurt by them, as if such diversions had no right to interfere with his grand plan for Australia.
My real induction into parliamentary life was my maiden speech. Our first child, Melanie, was only a few weeks old, so Janette could not come to the maiden speech. Melanie had been born on 1 August, and I had been present at the birth, as would be the case with our two sons. It has been common practice for a long time now for fathers to be present at the births of their children, but it was not so common more than 30 years ago. I am so glad that I was, as it was an added link in our lives, and I am sure of help to Janette.
My mother was able to attend and sit in the Speaker’s Gallery during my speech. I was very grateful for that. Mum was a shy person, but she took an enormous pride in what I had achieved by being elected to the national parliament. I was nervous, which was natural, but I was well satisfied with the speech. Delivered on 26 September 1974, it emphasised the importance I attached to individual effort, the need to combat loneliness in big cities, the value of the coalition between the Liberals and the Country Party, freedom of choice in education and, very importantly, it contained a strong attack on the big increase in government spending contained in the recent budget. I did not read my speech, but delivered it from headings. That was to be the pattern for the long years I spent in parliament. Almost all of the other maiden speeches were read in their entirety.
Within days I was called upon at short notice to support Jim Killen, the shadow Education minister, in a matter-of-public-importance debate concerning the Whitlam Government’s policies towards independent schools. This is a traditional debate, which occurs after question time each day, when the opposition has a go at the Government on some current issue, and because I was able, at short notice, to participate in this debate I won some brownie points in the whip’s office. All that impromptu high school debating practice was now being put to good use.
* * *
The Family Law Bill, which was designed fundamentally to restructure Australia’s divorce law, had been introduced into parliament (in the Senate) on 1 August 1974. The bill was the brainchild of Lionel Murphy, Gough Whitlam’s Attorney General. It had Whitlam’s enthusiastic support, and directly mirrored progressive thinking at the time that Australia should embrace no-fault divorce. There was strong support in the community for overthrowing the existing framework, which only permitted divorce on specific grounds, such as adultery, desertion or cruelty.
Having done some divorce work as a lawyer, I was familiar with the rancour usually surrounding marriage breakdown, and believed that big changes were needed. I felt that where a marriage had completely broken down, no good purpose was served by barriers being placed in the way of legally dissolving that marriage, provided that proper regard was paid to the welfare of any children.
A particularly distasteful aspect of the old law was the frequent practice of private investigators, at the instigation of an aggrieved husband or wife, conducting divorce raids to obtain photographs of people in compromising circumstances. In many hours of debate on the Family Law Bill there was general agreement about the need for significant change. The question was, how far the changes should go. There was concern, which I shared, that the bill might tip the balance too far in the direction of diminishing the value of marriage through making it too easy to obtain a divorce.
The strongest push for change came from the more strident feminist groups, who saw easier divorce laws as a way of obtaining greater equality of treatment for women.
There was no more important piece of social legislation debated in the time that I was in federal parliament than the Family Law Bill. All parties allowed their members a free vote, and this exposed real fissures and bitterness within the Labor Party. The divide was between its more conservative members, the majority having an Irish Catholic heritage, who had worries about the bill, as opposed to the growing number of progressive and socially libertarian MPs in Labor ranks, who saw the measure as a test of the Labor Party’s modernist virility.
Lionel Murphy had a barely disguised contempt for the influence of the Judaeo-Christian ethic on Australian society. When he died, the historian Manning Clark said that one of Murphy’s aims had been to dismantle the influence of the ethic on Australian life. To some people, the Family Law Bill was a bite-sized attempt to do just that.
I experienced, first-hand, the depth of rancour and personal hostility the bill had brought forth in Labor ranks. Frank Stewart, Minister for Tourism and Recreation, strongly opposed the bill, despised Murphy and was scornful of Whitlam’s encouragement of Murphy. Stewart was a strong Catholic, one of those Labor men in New South Wales who had heeded the injunction of Cardinal Gilroy and Archbishop James Carroll, the leaders of the Sydney Catholic hierarchy, to ‘stay in [the Labor Party] and fight’ rather than join the DLP at the time of the great Labor split in the 1950s.
Stewart had waited a long time to taste government, having in fact succeeded Dan Mulcahy in the seat of Lang way back in 1953, in a by-election following Mulcahy’s death. But the party he now belonged to was drifting further away from the party he had decided to stay in and fight to preserve from communist influence. It was people like Lionel Murphy who were pushing it even further away from the party of his youth. He was a decent, straightforward man who never hid his feelings.