With Mungo MacCallum
In the old days, the Sydney Morning Herald would have begun its editorial on the events of last week with the phrase: “It was a sad but wise decision...”
None but the most viciously partisan will rejoice in the dumping of Julia Gillard, but none but the politically purblind will deny that it was the dumping that Labor had to have. The alternative was a defeat which would cripple the party for the best (or worst) part of a generation, and to avert this disaster to the institution she headed, the queen had to be sacrificed.
Gillard did her best in what were quite literally unprecedented circumstances and achieved some important results – at least, history will recognise their importance. But they were not the results the electorate wanted. In the end, her best was simply not good enough.
It could be argued that she never really had a chance: from the moment she achieved greatness – or rather, had it thrust upon her – she was carrying three crippling handicaps, none of which she ever entirely surmounted. The first was the very manner of her ascension. Leadership changes are supposed to gradual, visible processes with the challenger stalking the incumbent, manoeuvring, feinting, and calling trial runs for months before the final strike. This was the way Paul Keating pursued Bob Hawke, or, for that matter, the way Kevin Rudd pursued Julia Gillard. But the 2010 coup was a stab in the back, the supposedly loyal deputy grabbing the job in the wake of a midnight assassination by her mafia. It was never going to be accepted by a large slice of the party and the electorate.
And with it came other baggage. The second problem was that Gillard arrived without an agenda of her own. She had not expected to need one. So for the first period of her always fraught leadership she was reduced to mopping up Rudd’s program and reacting to Tony Abbott’s brutal aggression. And thirdly, she was not equipped for the job; in the fullness of time she might have developed the vision and the political skills required, but in 2010 the Peter Principle still applied: she had been promoted above her abilities.
And, like so many of her predecessors, in the end she did not know when it was time to leave. Six months ago it became clear that she could not win; all the public polling was showing that the swing against her government was locked in. Her supporters grasped at the odd rogue result, but the they looked a little like climate change deniers who only accept the aberrations, never the overwhelming evidence. The party’s private polling was even more damning: Gillard herself was the problem – the majority had rejected her.
But there was a chance of redemption: a return to Rudd would put Labor back in the fight. This was the point at which she could have agreed to a smooth and gracious transition; instead, she called an election, or at least named the date. And the party stuck with her – a fair few out of genuine loyalty, but far more from a reluctance to go back to Rudd either because they did not like his personality, his style, or his perceived treachery or because they just did not want to admit that they had been wrong in 2010. It took them until it was nearly too late to realise that their stance was not just punishing Rudd: it was punishing their own followers, their party and all that it stood for, and, finally, themselves.
And because the crisis came at the last minute, the consequences were more dramatic than they need have been. Obviously Gillard’s hard core supporters would still have resigned from the ministry, but perhaps they would not have retired from parliament – Craig Emerson in particular was a competent administrator who will be missed. On the other side of the coin Martin Ferguson and Simon Crean might have stayed for another term.
It appears that Stephen Smith and, the biggest loss of all, Greg Combet, may have been planning to go anyway, but the fact that they were caught up in the rush compounds the impression of blood revolution rather than orderly transition. And, let’s face it, bloody revolution was what we got. In the end there was no other choice.
So what now? The logic says that Rudd should do what just about the commentators and the public want, and just get on with it – call the election as soon as practicable, while the honeymoon is still unsullied by post coitum tristesse. But he has made clear he has not plans to do so; rather than pre-empt Gillard’s date of September 14, he plans to stretch things out beyond it, claiming the need to settle a few policy questions first.
This sounds plausible, but I suspect that there are at least two other reasons for the delay. The first is simple ego: Rudd reckons he can beat Abbott whenever and wherever, so the question of a honeymoon is irrelevant. But more worryingly, Rudd has form as a prevaricator: the fact that he squibbed calling a double dissolution at the beginning of 2010 was where all the trouble started, Had he done so he would almost certainly have won it, passed his emissions trading scheme at a joint sitting, and become untouchable. To be fair, it was one of the few times he took advice: Gillard, Wayne Swan, Mark Arbib and Sam Dastyari talked him out of it, and shortly afterwards shafted him more comprehensively.
Rudd is only the fourth of our 27 Prime Ministers to get a second chance. Before him, Alfred Deakin, Andrew Fisher and Robert Menzies grabbed their opportunities and did great things. Rudd’s course should be clear: certainly it is a time for a bit more consultation, a bit more method, a bit more Mr Nice Guy. But it is not a time for timidity or retreat. Think of the old school motto: distinction by merit. Rudd is doing it in reverse. He has already been awarded a rare distinction: now he must use it to gain the merit.
In the old days, the Sydney Morning Herald would have begun its editorial on the events of last week with the phrase: “It was a sad but wise decision...”
None but the most viciously partisan will rejoice in the dumping of Julia Gillard, but none but the politically purblind will deny that it was the dumping that Labor had to have. The alternative was a defeat which would cripple the party for the best (or worst) part of a generation, and to avert this disaster to the institution she headed, the queen had to be sacrificed.
Gillard did her best in what were quite literally unprecedented circumstances and achieved some important results – at least, history will recognise their importance. But they were not the results the electorate wanted. In the end, her best was simply not good enough.
It could be argued that she never really had a chance: from the moment she achieved greatness – or rather, had it thrust upon her – she was carrying three crippling handicaps, none of which she ever entirely surmounted. The first was the very manner of her ascension. Leadership changes are supposed to gradual, visible processes with the challenger stalking the incumbent, manoeuvring, feinting, and calling trial runs for months before the final strike. This was the way Paul Keating pursued Bob Hawke, or, for that matter, the way Kevin Rudd pursued Julia Gillard. But the 2010 coup was a stab in the back, the supposedly loyal deputy grabbing the job in the wake of a midnight assassination by her mafia. It was never going to be accepted by a large slice of the party and the electorate.
And with it came other baggage. The second problem was that Gillard arrived without an agenda of her own. She had not expected to need one. So for the first period of her always fraught leadership she was reduced to mopping up Rudd’s program and reacting to Tony Abbott’s brutal aggression. And thirdly, she was not equipped for the job; in the fullness of time she might have developed the vision and the political skills required, but in 2010 the Peter Principle still applied: she had been promoted above her abilities.
And, like so many of her predecessors, in the end she did not know when it was time to leave. Six months ago it became clear that she could not win; all the public polling was showing that the swing against her government was locked in. Her supporters grasped at the odd rogue result, but the they looked a little like climate change deniers who only accept the aberrations, never the overwhelming evidence. The party’s private polling was even more damning: Gillard herself was the problem – the majority had rejected her.
But there was a chance of redemption: a return to Rudd would put Labor back in the fight. This was the point at which she could have agreed to a smooth and gracious transition; instead, she called an election, or at least named the date. And the party stuck with her – a fair few out of genuine loyalty, but far more from a reluctance to go back to Rudd either because they did not like his personality, his style, or his perceived treachery or because they just did not want to admit that they had been wrong in 2010. It took them until it was nearly too late to realise that their stance was not just punishing Rudd: it was punishing their own followers, their party and all that it stood for, and, finally, themselves.
And because the crisis came at the last minute, the consequences were more dramatic than they need have been. Obviously Gillard’s hard core supporters would still have resigned from the ministry, but perhaps they would not have retired from parliament – Craig Emerson in particular was a competent administrator who will be missed. On the other side of the coin Martin Ferguson and Simon Crean might have stayed for another term.
It appears that Stephen Smith and, the biggest loss of all, Greg Combet, may have been planning to go anyway, but the fact that they were caught up in the rush compounds the impression of blood revolution rather than orderly transition. And, let’s face it, bloody revolution was what we got. In the end there was no other choice.
So what now? The logic says that Rudd should do what just about the commentators and the public want, and just get on with it – call the election as soon as practicable, while the honeymoon is still unsullied by post coitum tristesse. But he has made clear he has not plans to do so; rather than pre-empt Gillard’s date of September 14, he plans to stretch things out beyond it, claiming the need to settle a few policy questions first.
This sounds plausible, but I suspect that there are at least two other reasons for the delay. The first is simple ego: Rudd reckons he can beat Abbott whenever and wherever, so the question of a honeymoon is irrelevant. But more worryingly, Rudd has form as a prevaricator: the fact that he squibbed calling a double dissolution at the beginning of 2010 was where all the trouble started, Had he done so he would almost certainly have won it, passed his emissions trading scheme at a joint sitting, and become untouchable. To be fair, it was one of the few times he took advice: Gillard, Wayne Swan, Mark Arbib and Sam Dastyari talked him out of it, and shortly afterwards shafted him more comprehensively.
Rudd is only the fourth of our 27 Prime Ministers to get a second chance. Before him, Alfred Deakin, Andrew Fisher and Robert Menzies grabbed their opportunities and did great things. Rudd’s course should be clear: certainly it is a time for a bit more consultation, a bit more method, a bit more Mr Nice Guy. But it is not a time for timidity or retreat. Think of the old school motto: distinction by merit. Rudd is doing it in reverse. He has already been awarded a rare distinction: now he must use it to gain the merit.
