I only saw two of the Keating interviews – first and last. Not deliberately. Didn’t get to iView in time for the two middle ones. I’m pleased he’s got to give his side of things. His interpretation of the contribution he made – to Party and Country. His version of political debates and decisions, and of historic events – all so long ago. To my mind his best reflections on these matters are contained in the short Introduction to his book of post-prime Ministerial speeches, After Words.
Like many of his off the cuff addresses (check out his contribution in Parliament on the occasion of John Kerr’s death), it’s clear, concise and provides a way for dealing with the future rather than focussing on the past. And that’s to the good. The speeches themselves are worth reading – but require more effort than watching an hour or so of telly.
The two interviews I saw made me sad. I’m not sure why. Memories of glory days now past? You can never go back and I never want to. The whiff of ego mania bordering on manic compulsiveness in continuing to debate old headlines, old articles – all pollies have the ego; but was there something more here? The re-writing of history – these were just his views; nothing more nor less. Old colleagues chuckled and murmured to each other, Well, some of it’s true. Maybe it was the response – so disproportionate. So effusive. As though this was the true story, the complete picture, all foot-noted and verified. It was strange seeing all these people on twitter – who wouldn’t have liked the young Paul very much at all – and wouldn’t have much liked how he got stuff done as PM either – falling over themselves to honour and praise this new, celebrity version. All we need is Paul back to put the world to rights was a common refrain; but a false one to my mind. Not the same problem, not the real Paul.
In any event the interviews, and more recently news of his birthday – to paraphrase Dylan Thomas, his seventieth year to heaven – prompted these memories of my own encounters with the man himself.
It’s mid eighties. The Treasurer is on the road, touring ALP State branches seeking support for allowing foreign banks into the country. It’s before National Conference later in the year and he wants to change the National Platform so it’s clear. He’s having fun berating the Left, who as usual is opposed to change. Why on earth,he asks, would we be supporting these silver tails sitting on their bags of money and providing bugger all services to anyone in return? Especially the people Labor represents. We’re in a crowded room in Carlton, mid morning, about a hundred people. He’s in full flight when a man, short, stocky, high domed bald head (probably wearing a cardigan) enters and quickly sits. Paul stops mid sentence, nods to the newcomer and says Hi Ray, thanks for coming. Telling the room he knows this person. Knows he leads one of the biggest left wing unions and is influential in this debate. And so is deserving of respect. And so he gives it. And we get a message. Rhetoric and tone. Both important when you’re trying to win an argument. He didn’t always get those right, but I remember that day, that moment of recognition.
Late eighties at the Empire Reception Rooms in Sydney Road with the Party faithful. He’s giving the keynote address. I’m to introduce him so we’re sitting together at a small round table – six or seven of us. He’s alone. The Government’s travelling badly and we’re talking about the economy. There’s speculation in the papers that we’re heading towards recession. No, no. No! He waves his hands in circular motions in the middle of the table. Beautiful hands. Pale, long tapering fingers, perfectly manicured. We have all the levers. We know how to use them. You just need courage. The economy’s under control. It’ll be a soft landing. The hands float softly down to the table – a soft landing. So earnest, so confident, and, of course, so wrong.
Early nineties. He’s on the back bench. Creating havoc for Hawke. Giving speeches of national significance to whoever he can convince. Who want to hear his big picture views. Supporters out backgrounding journalists. People everywhere feeling the pressure. Are you for or against? Cabinet Ministers (now regarded as the highest calibre in living memory) are walking into cupboards, forgetting key phrases in press conferences – running away from the central question every-one wants answered. The nadir reached when they march in full view to Hawke’s office to tap him on the shoulder only to return – still in full view to announce he wouldn’t go. Nothing resolved. The Government in stasis. And Paul sitting, waiting it out. (Where was the collective memory of this during the last internecine battle?)
I’m at the office of the Meatworkers Union. Temporary accommodation while their new office is built. I’m poring over award rates of pay, preparing for a wage case. When in he comes. Looks a million dollars, in his Zegna suit, polished black shoes. Those lovely pale hands crossed in front of him. Walking nonchalantly into the room as though he owned the place. He’s here to see Wally Curran. Former drinking buddy and family friend of Bob Hawke – helped concrete the drive-way of the Sandringham house. Influential, despite the size of his union, in the Left. Which as always, is the last to budge. We just don’t like change. But Wally’s an independent thinker. Not beholden to people or positions just for the sake of it. Prepared to consider what’s best for Party. For country. He always had an open door policy, Wally. Union business is open and transparent. I can’t remember if it was closed this day, or how long they were together. Conversation over, Wally introduced his visitor to those of us there. Polite pleasantries and then he was off with a wave of the hand. Supremely confident. A week later Wally was in The Age telling Victorian Left caucus members they should vote for Paul Keating as Leader. A little while later they did just that – and Paul was Prime Minister.
He’s been in the position a while and is pushing for a Republic. Has appointed Malcolm Turnbull to his Advisory Group and I’m responsible for advocating the ACTU position in support. Bill Kelty calls me into his office. I’ve upset Paul. Because I’ve upset Don Watson. Unthinkable of Bill to voice criticism. So, whilst mild this is shocking. I remember the conversation with Don. Long and, on my part, not his, acrimonious. I’d heard they were not going to codify the Reserve Powers. To my mind a critical decision. Leaving it open to another Kerr to sack a future Whitlam. Unthinkable. How can you?! I declaimed. If you stick with this, even I couldn’t, won’t, vote for a Republic! You might as well call the whole thing off.
Later I run into Paul in the ACTU corridor, outside Bill’s office, sixth floor, Latrobe Street. Again, the contrast between stylish Paul and drab surrounds is stark. It’s winter. He’s wearing a big black coat over the smart suit. Same polished shoes. Either I or Bill, I can’t remember, bring up the question of the reserve powers. You can’t leave them uncertain, ambiguous, left to lawyers like Barwick! I say, with all the passionate intensity of youth. He draws himself up to full height, hunches shoulders, then suddenly lifts both elbows out at shoulder height. He’s a scarecrow. You start debating the reserve powers, he says, taking a short step out front and burrowing the point into the worn carpet, And they’ve got you. He pirouettes around on the pointed toe in a full circle back to face me, lifts the elbows a little higher. In their web of legaleze and doubt and suspicion. And you’re caught! And you’ve lost before you’ve started. And with that he continued on down the corridor. Convinced me.
There were more occasions. Congresses and conferences. Debates about this and that. We all brought our copies of the Herald Sun showing Hewson winning the 1996 election to work and he signed them all. That was very shortly after the election – within the week. It all seems a long time ago.
We need to go back to interrogating, debating and engaging about ideas. We ran away from Paul Keating and Bob Hawke’s legacy. Let’s not put it in aspic, a piece of nostalgia. Let’s have arguments, passion. In short, real politics.
Johnny Whistler says
At least Keating would have given those stand-over thugs at the CFMEU the cold shoulder … Tony Abbott = Australia’s Greatest Prime Minister (For people, not the ‘persecuted workers’ who should be pending criminal charges)