- Published on
By John Coldebella
BACK in the mid '70s, Bob Dylan wrote a song called Idiot Wind which contained the line: "Everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped." It didn't mean a great deal to me at the time but, 40 years later, I'm inclined to agree.
Back then, our parliaments were a breeding ground for statesmen. I use the old gender-biased term because in those days there were few if any women representing the populace. Government ministers qualified for the title "Right Honourable", and in many cases this was an accurate summary of their character. There was much respect between political opponents who, like an honest footballer, tended to play the ball and not the man.
BACK in the mid '70s, Bob Dylan wrote a song called Idiot Wind which contained the line: "Everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped." It didn't mean a great deal to me at the time but, 40 years later, I'm inclined to agree.
Back then, our parliaments were a breeding ground for statesmen. I use the old gender-biased term because in those days there were few if any women representing the populace. Government ministers qualified for the title "Right Honourable", and in many cases this was an accurate summary of their character. There was much respect between political opponents who, like an honest footballer, tended to play the ball and not the man.
In an interview with Philip Adams some years ago, former long-term Victorian opposition leader and federal MP Clyde Holding recalled going round to the home of then Victorian premier Rupert (Dick) Hamer to collect his child who had been invited to a birthday party. He recounted knocking on the door which was opened by Mrs Hamer, and seeing his child in the lap of the premier who was sitting in an armchair. I struggle to imagine such a scenario today.
Politicians of that era needed to be good communicators, and even the least educated of them were reasonably articulate. It was a time when our representatives still felt a requirement to explain policy. On all sides of politics were people with a vision. Their position carried a certain amount of respect and we looked to them as role models for civil society.
The footballers, on the other hand were knockabout blokes who, while also playing a kind of representative role, commanded much lower expectations from their communities. Many of them struggled to put more than a few words together and few had a university degree. They could be relied on to get drunk on a regular basis, smoke and engage in "biffo" when they ran onto the field. Children looked up to them and dreamed of following in their footsteps. They were working class heroes.
Today, it's almost as if their roles have been swapped. Many modern footballers are highly educated and articulate, while many of our parliamentarians, including the Rhodes scholars, struggle to put together more than a few coherent words. Footballers are required to lead highly disciplined lives, and their contractual obligations include community service.
Our parliamentarians still require a bar in their workplace. Our footballers are tested for use of illegal drugs. Our parliamentarians are not. Footballers play the ball. MPs play both the man and the woman. It is the AFL that tackles the sensitive issues that need to be dealt with to bring about positive social change. With few exceptions, politicians duck and weave.
Footballers have become the standard bearers of the highest exemplary public and private behaviour. Their every false move is thoroughly and publicly scrutinised. When they stray from the straight and narrow, they acknowledge their mistakes and make public apologies.
"I've done nothing wrong" is the response we've come to expect from our parliamentarians (as they pay back some money plus a little more for good measure.) Politicians have been reduced to the status of mediocre celebrity. Parliament has become another reality show that no-one really cares to watch. The statesmen are running around chasing a leather ball. The larrikins are running the country.
Politicians of that era needed to be good communicators, and even the least educated of them were reasonably articulate. It was a time when our representatives still felt a requirement to explain policy. On all sides of politics were people with a vision. Their position carried a certain amount of respect and we looked to them as role models for civil society.
The footballers, on the other hand were knockabout blokes who, while also playing a kind of representative role, commanded much lower expectations from their communities. Many of them struggled to put more than a few words together and few had a university degree. They could be relied on to get drunk on a regular basis, smoke and engage in "biffo" when they ran onto the field. Children looked up to them and dreamed of following in their footsteps. They were working class heroes.
Today, it's almost as if their roles have been swapped. Many modern footballers are highly educated and articulate, while many of our parliamentarians, including the Rhodes scholars, struggle to put together more than a few coherent words. Footballers are required to lead highly disciplined lives, and their contractual obligations include community service.
Our parliamentarians still require a bar in their workplace. Our footballers are tested for use of illegal drugs. Our parliamentarians are not. Footballers play the ball. MPs play both the man and the woman. It is the AFL that tackles the sensitive issues that need to be dealt with to bring about positive social change. With few exceptions, politicians duck and weave.
Footballers have become the standard bearers of the highest exemplary public and private behaviour. Their every false move is thoroughly and publicly scrutinised. When they stray from the straight and narrow, they acknowledge their mistakes and make public apologies.
"I've done nothing wrong" is the response we've come to expect from our parliamentarians (as they pay back some money plus a little more for good measure.) Politicians have been reduced to the status of mediocre celebrity. Parliament has become another reality show that no-one really cares to watch. The statesmen are running around chasing a leather ball. The larrikins are running the country.
I wonder if their behaviour reflects the change in us, as a society, or is it a response to the way Politics is reported? Ray Hadley and Scott Morrison were only able to aspire to a new low point because people were listening to the broadcast.
I believe that a compelling argument could be put that Australia's last true Statesman was Doc Evatt who, after being a a High Court Judge, was President of the United Nations General Assembly from 1948 to 1949, helped draft the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and was the first Chairman of the United Nations Atomic Energy Commission. This was before he returned to Australia to lead the ALP.
Those credentials far eclipse Sir Robert Menzies' highest international appointment as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, a post he took over from Winston Churchill in 1966. He was succeeded by the Queen Mother in 1978.
The scarcity of statespersons is cause for concern. Much as Betty Windsor's mum had to give up lording it over those five ports her Highness and her/our Governor General will not be Australia's head of state for ever. Who among the current crop of leaders is qualified to lead us in the direction we need to go?
One day there will be a Republic of Australia. With a president. Who would we vote for?
Right now, it's hard to think of someone who could campaign for the role on merit. Or be appointed by Parliament without polarising the nation.
Unless we can develop a presidential C3PO, programmed to obey the constitution within universal ethical standards, we are doomed to be ruled by politicians.
Or maybe we could clone a president. Is there any Evatt DNA left in Australian politics?