Source : the age
In 2003, the forthright British broadcaster Jeremy Paxman published a book called The Political Animal: An Anatomy in which he dissected the character and psyche of his journalistic prey: politicians.
The central thesis of the book was that politicians are not just another breed, they are an entirely different species. In the introduction, Paxman recounts being bailed up by Cherie Booth, wife of former British Labour prime minister Tony Blair, who asserted that journalists were not interested in the truth and were “only in it for the money” (I wish the latter were true).
She accused Paxman of believing “we’re all crooks”. As he pointed out, the “we” was interesting, given Booth was not, herself, a politician. Anyway, she was wrong, Paxman said. “I most emphatically do not believe that they are all crooks. Or even that they are all, always dishonest,” he wrote. “But they are different from us.”
Sussan Ley showed fortitude under pressure from National Party leader David Littleproud.Credit: Marija Ercegovac
I was inspired to go back to Paxman’s book this week as I pondered the absolute nerves of steel of new Liberal leader Sussan Ley who, in the first weeks of her new job, navigated a Coalition split while nursing her dying mother and then planning a funeral.
Journalists, famously not in it for the money, are also famously not pussycats. Yet I cannot remember any of my colleagues losing a beloved parent while simultaneously being forced to work on a huge and stressful project, upon which the fate of their institution rests. I can only admire Ley for what must be her incredible inner strength.
The situation, of course, was not of her making. It was Nationals leader David Littleproud who proved Paxman’s thesis most convincingly by pushing negotiations to breaking point at the very moment his negotiating partner was in extremis. He knew Ley had retreated to Albury after the devastating general election, and her own personal election as Liberal leader, to tend to her dying mother.
Littleproud knew, also, that Ley had taken the pragmatic and necessary decision to review the entire Coalition policy platform – which had rendered them unelectable – before making any decisions about next steps. This was especially important in the case of the Coalition’s unpopular nuclear policy, a pet favourite of the Nats, and yet the very same policy that helped to make the Liberals outcasts in the metropolitan electorates they used to consider their own.
And yet, Littleproud travelled to Albury to negotiate the Coalition agreement with Ley, as she presumably popped out from her mother’s bedside.
There was no real urgency to the negotiation. It was entirely imposed by Littleproud, who said, “I made myself available to go to Albury when she wanted to initiate those discussions, rather than making her come to Canberra”. As my colleague Matthew Knott wrote: “What a guy”.
Sussan Ley and her mother, Angela Braybrooks, who died earlier this month.
When Littleproud made his journey, he must have known that there was no way Ley could agree to another central, non-policy, demand he was making: that the Nationals appointed to shadow Cabinet would not be bound by Cabinet solidarity.
In other words, he wanted Ley to agree to all the Nats’ policy demands, no matter how unpalatable they were to the broader electorate. But the Nats would reserve the right to trash publicly other Coalition policy agreed upon through proper Cabinet processes if they didn’t like it. This was not an offer that Ley, or any leader, could accept, while keeping their political skin, not to mention their self-respect. (No matter, anyway, as Littleproud later reversed his position on cabinet solidarity exemption.)
I don’t know if it’s ironic or if it’s sad, but it strikes me that while former opposition leader Peter Dutton was greatly damaged during the election campaign by comparisons to Donald Trump, it is actually his erstwhile Coalition partner who has turned the most Trumpy.
Littleproud’s strategy is a sound mimicry of the US president’s modus operandi. Strike while your opponent is weak. Make a demand that you know cannot be met. Quit negotiations in a fit of pique. Come back to the table having shown your opponent that the cost of war is catastrophically high.
That’s your leverage. It worked, sort of. Two days after the dramatic split the parties had come back together, the break-up seemingly transformed into a mere break. By week’s end it looked as though all the brinkmanship had done little except enforce public perception that both Coalition partners are their own version of a hot mess right now. It also raised serious questions about Littleproud’s judgment. I hope Ley rewards herself with a stiff drink this weekend.
While not much has been made of her gender (so far), the Liberal leader’s grace under fire does seem uniquely feminine.
In my anecdotal observation, the underlying emotionality so often suspected of female politicians is more usually exhibited by male ones. Our first female prime minister had to deal with intolerably cruel taunts about her father “dying of shame” when she lost her dad in 2012.
Those taunts, made by former broadcaster Alan Jones, were echoed in parliament.
Paxman wrote that the characteristics required to succeed in politics – “the late night stamina”, the optimism, the self-confidence, the brinkmanship” – were also necessary to succeed in gambling. As with gambling, the personal toll of politics can be huge.
As Paxman argued, politicians are different to us, which is probably why they so often fail to convince voters they understand their ordinary struggles.
Politicians’ own struggles are not ordinary at all.
Alan Jones, who is currently facing charges of 35 historical sexual abuse offences (charges he vehemently denies), did apologise to Julia Gillard after he made the cruel remark about her dad.
He said at the time he had contacted the prime minister’s office to apologise personally.
