When I first heard Emma Husar had described what happened to her as ‘slut-shaming’, I felt a sense of relief: Thank god someone else feels empowered to say it. It felt like proof that calling out this nastiness does work in breaking the silence. Naming it for what it is does help other women stand up and speak out. But, actually, I’m angry. We should all be angry. A strong woman, who managed to juggle being a politician (and in a marginal seat!) and a single mum at the same time has been forced out of politics; another woman gone, chewed up and spat out. A woman who has dedicated her public life to victims of domestic violence and to support for children with disabilities has been brought down by a sexist attack on her character and by false claims about her reputation.
To those of us watching, what happened to Emma Husar was another clinical case of a woman in the public eye being set up, ripped down and hung out to dry. These nasty rumours should never have cost her being a member of parliament. If she’d been a bloke, she would still be an MP after the next election. Heavens, Barnaby Joyce, who slept with one of his staff, fathered a child from the affair, and admitted in a tell-all book to chasing women and being drunk on the job, has just been welcomed back to a plum appointment the prime minister has created for him. The member for Lindsay did none of those things, yet she is the one forced out of politics.
Women of all stripes
As a woman, the higher you get in the once exclusively male world of politics, the more your existence is considered an unwelcome intrusion and the more ferociously your opponents try to tear you down.
Never has this been more clearly shown than when Julia Gillard became the first female prime minister of Australia.
First, I think it’s important to reflect on the fact that it took more than a hundred years and twenty-six male prime ministers before we had a woman in the top job. That alone reveals how, when it comes to selecting people for positions of power in this country, merit is not the sole consideration. In fact, when looking at some of the people who occupy the government benches in parliament right now, you may be forgiven for thinking that merit is barely a factor at all.
When women, who are slightly more than 50 per cent of the population, have made up less than 4 per cent of Australian prime ministers, there is something seriously wrong. Either men are somehow intrinsically better at running the country, or fundamentally sexist power structures actively discriminate against women making it to high office. I know which one of those two I’d put my money on.
I also want to recognise that, in Gillard’s time as prime minister, she achieved many significant reforms for Australia. These include the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, the National Disability Insurance Scheme, and working with the Greens to put in place a world-leading scheme to tackle global warming. Securing these outcomes was made all the more impressive by the fact that she did it while weathering a vicious, gender-based campaign of ridicule and smears from the national media.
Gillard was a prime minister for whom around half of the country’s media showed pure and open contempt. They argued policy, for sure, but too often she was criticised for what she wore, how she looked and how she talked. In addition to that, prominent radio personalities joked about the method in which she should be killed, and shameful remarks were made about her being to blame for the fact that her father died while she was in office. While in politics criticism comes with the job, this hysterical level of scorn and personal attack was peculiar to her, the first and only woman to lead the country. That, of course, was no coincidence.
One of the images that will forever define this aspect of Julia Gillard’s treatment as prime minister came when Tony Abbott stood in front of signs with ‘DITCH THE WITCH’ and ‘JULIAR…. BOB BROWNS BITCH’ plastered across them. The signs were outrageous, not only because they were so inflammatory, but because they betrayed the real reason so many people hated her—finally, someone had said it. She was a woman and that meant she was a witch; also, that she was nothing more than a bitch who was being played by the real men of politics.
I will always be thankful for, and proud of, Bob Brown’s response to these hateful insults to Gillard. He was one of the few political voices who offered support to her at that time. He recognised that the national conversation in relation to her and her leadership was no longer rational.
‘I just think the degree of relentless criticism of this prime minister coming from male commentators, it’s probably all subconscious, but is sexist and quite ridiculous at times,’ Bob Brown said, adding, ‘People are incredibly impressed with her ability to deal with what is chucked at her, and so am I.’
I hope that the then prime minister heard those words in the spirit they were intended: as a gesture of peace and goodwill across the political aisle that too often divides us.
There were also times when Gillard was criticised for not being feminine enough, like in 2005, when a photoshoot in her home’s kitchen revealed the apparently unspeakable sin of having a nearly empty fruit bowl. In response, people accused her of neglecting her feminine household duties and some said it was a telling reflection of her life decision to be ‘intentionally barren’. The comments were both unnecessarily personal and completely unguarded in their sexism.
Other times, she was criticised for going too far the other way and being too feminine. There was the Australian Women’s Weekly cover shoot that showed her knitting a toy kangaroo for Wills’ and Kate’s royal baby. The photo caused an eruption of outrage across the country. Many people said that she was playing the gender card by portraying herself in a feminine light, while Andrew Bolt, from Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp, ridiculed the prime minister for indulging in a hobby ‘now synonymous with mad old aunts’.
After years of Gillard being told that she had to show her softer side, it came as no surprise to many of us that, when she did, she was instantly slammed for it.
Like so many women in this country, she simply couldn’t win, because the system set her up to fail. As a woman in public life, if you’re soft, it means you’re weak; and if you’re tough, it means you’re a bitch. There’s practically no safe space to occupy between those two alternatives, and if you stray too far one way or the other, the reprisals are swift, fierce and often severe enough to end a career.
I hold conflicting opinions about Gillard’s time as prime minister. Being Australia’s first female leader was a momentous achievement that helped to move our nation towards gender equality. The fact that she reached the office of prime minister means that young girls across the country now know the same is possible for them. That alone is an extraordinary thing to do for Australian women, and she did it at significant cost to herself, her privacy and her family life.
At the same time, I wish she had used her position to do so much more for women in a practical, real-world way.
This conflict between appreciation of and frustration with Gillard was on full display during her famous misogyny speech. It was a brilliant example of her at her best. She took on the haters and tore them apart. Through that one inspired act, she made it easier for women, including me, to call out sexism publicly in the future when we saw it.
Julia Gillard’s speech was a watershed moment for women but what’s been largely lost in the fog of memory is that, on the very same day, her government savagely cut the level of funding for single parents, almost all of whom are single mothers. The fact that this was done on the same day she delivered that seminal speech left many of us confused as to what Gillard really stood for. History will be much kinder to Gillard than the political class at the time.
One thing we can all agree on, though, is that women have it tough in politics, regardless of which political party they belong to.
Julie Bishop knows all too well about the difficulties of being a woman in conservative circles. Despite being the most popular, experienced and electable leadership candidate in the recent coup that ended Malcolm Turnbull’s time as prime minister, Bishop was summarily snubbed by
her colleagues. They opted, instead, for a contest between two men who are extremely unpopular with voters. It seemed the only thing the warring factions of the Liberal Party could agree on was that it’s better to lose an election than have a woman in charge.
Sexism doesn’t explain everything about why the then foreign affairs minister was overlooked for the top job, but it goes a long way.
Julie Bishop summed up the pathetic display when a reporter asked her if the Liberal Party will ever be able to bring itself to support a popular female leader. ‘When we find one, I’m sure we will,’ she responded with a pointedly raised eyebrow.
And that’s one of the major problems with the way women are treated in Australian politics today. Many are forced to leave before reaching their full potential because of the toxic nature of the work environment or the fact that their careers stall once reaching a certain level.
When Liberal MP Julia Banks revealed that she had been bullied and intimidated by members of her own party and, as a result, would be resigning, I was impressed by her courage. As another woman who has experienced years of bullying in the parliament, I wanted to reach out and support her, and I didn’t care that she was from a rival political party.
There are many people in Canberra who think that party loyalty should come before all else. To them, any suffering by a person from another party is a good thing, and any failure of another party to protect its female MPs from bullying is to be privately celebrated and then publicly exploited for maximum political benefit.
I decided some time ago, however, that creating an environment where people can work together to improve the culture for women in parliament, regardless of their party affiliation, is more important to me than scoring political points at every opportunity.
I wasn’t surprised when others saw revelations of bullying from women within the Liberal Party as nothing more than an opportunity to criticise the conservatives. Even some within the Greens thought we should sink the boot in, rather than support the women who were speaking out. It just showed me once again that politics, in general, has a problem with women, and that it’s not confined to any one party or side.
In saying this, I must be honest—I should have spoken up more when Peta Credlin, chief of staff to former prime minister Tony Abbott, was subject to her own onslaught of smear and innuendo. Peta copped it on two fronts. She was a strong, powerful woman but also in the position of being a member of staff, who aren’t allowed their own microphone, which meant the silencing effect was doubly stifling. Women like me, who know what it feels like to be reduced to these rumours and smut, should have done more. Yes, she is a political opponent on most issues but, as Madeleine Albright puts it so neatly, there’s a special place in hell for women who hide behind excuses like this.
Emma Husar, Julie Bishop, Julia Banks and Peta Credlin have all been let down by the Australian political system in different ways. None of these woman are perfect, of course, but only the wilfully ignorant could miss how significant their gender was when it came to how they were treated. The same, of course, is true for Julia Gillard.
The toxic boys’ club of Australian politics has become more combative towards women and increasingly tribal over the years. As the level of hyper-partisanship has grown, bullying and intimidation have been all but normalised and women continue to cop the brunt of it.
It doesn’t matter what side of the chamber we come from because this isn’t about party politics anymore. It’s about decency and respect, not just to each other as MPs but respect for the people who elected us. No woman, or man, deserves to show up to work and be harassed, bullied or intimidated. It’s not okay in the workplace, it’s not okay in our homes and our parliament should set a better example.
It’s always disappointing to see a woman quit in the face of a culture that so many of us know needs to change. The first step in fixing the environment, though, is to break the silence. Women and decent men must call out unacceptable behaviour whenever and wherever they see it, whether that’s in the chamber or within their own party rooms.
The next step is for all sides of politics to welcome, promote and elect more women in their ranks. When there are more women around the chamber, cultural change will happen. After ten years in this place, I know firsthand that the people who elected us to represent them are better served when there are more, not fewer, women in parliament.
Child’s play
Anyone who’s watched parliament question time knows that it is often little more than a public display of brawling politicians, sprinkled with some non-answers from ministers and the odd ‘zinger’ from the Opposition. In the midst of all the carry-on, I often find myself looking up to see the visiting school children watching us from the public gallery. It’s hard not to feel a sense of embarrassment; kind of like when you drop a swear word at home and your 11-year-old daughter pulls you up briskly. It is a reminder that as adults, it is so often a case of practising ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’
I’ve often pondered that if our nation’s children had the opportunity to speak during question time, how the tone of the place would change. It would certainly be more respectful, less aggressive, and some answers may even be given. I would guess too, that the issues raised would be focused on the future of the country, not just the latest Newspoll or the week’s biggest gotcha moment. But, if nothing else, more children in parliament would certainly lower the amount of verbal abuse hurled across the floor of the chamber. Politicians would be on their best behaviour, in fear of being scolded by a representative of the next generation.
In 2017, I was thrilled when my Greens colleague Senator Larissa Waters became the first woman to breastfeed her baby in the federal parliament. It made headlines, and for all the right reasons. It was a celebration that finally our parliament had caught up with the modern world’s expectations that working women need not be excluded from their duties as leaders simply because they are new mothers. Changes were being made over in the House of Representatives, too. Female MPs were finally allowed to breastfeed in the chamber, and could be absent during a vote, without penalty, if their child required care. These arrangements have given more access and equality to women on all sides of politics, so that they can get on with both public service and motherhood.
Like all progressive reforms, these changes didn’t happen by themselves. They were fought for across party lines by a group of younger MPs who decided it was time to modernise the way women, and children, were valued in the parliament. The Liberal Party’s Kelly O’Dwyer and Labor’s Kate Ellis and Amanda Rushworth all worked hard to make sure they and their electorates would no longer be disenfranchised simply because they were now mums with bubs in tow.
When it comes to role models, it would be remiss not to acknowledge New Zealand prime minister Jacinda Ardern: a young, female leader with a strong progressive agenda, positive attitude, and a baby born on the job. Despite her modest insistence that this is nothing remarkable, the power of examples like this are undeniable. Girls and women across the globe are clearly seeing equality in a whole new light, with leadership and motherhood not as opposing choices. The prime minister’s warmth and candour with the public as she learns to juggle parenthood and politics in such a highly scrutinised environment are refreshing and powerful. Australia has come a long way in encouraging women in politics but, as is too often the case with rugby, New Zealand is still in front.
It’s hard to imagine but, only nine years ago, the rules in the Senate and the attitude that accompanied them were very different.
It was a Thursday afternoon, at the end of a long sitting week, and the parliament was debating a Greens bill to ban junk food advertising during children’s television shows. Kora was two years old at the time, and in Canberra, as per usual; when she was little, she always travelled with me for each parliamentary sitting week. She was about to leave for the airport, with the nanny I employed, to fly back home to South Australia without me. I had meetings scheduled on the Friday in Canberra,
and Kora had her regular day at childcare in Adelaide. Despite our busy schedule and frequent travelling, I’d made a decision early on that it was important she had some regular time with other children, and not spend all of her week in my office, in meetings and around adults. Socialisation and exposure to early childhood education were important, so I always tried to ensure she would be at home on Fridays to enjoy a day at childcare. It had become a ritual of ours that, on days where I had to stay behind and she would fly home, we would take a walk along the Parliament House corridors and, if the weather permitted, enjoy some fresh air in the internal gardens, before saying goodbye.
We were just outside the back of the Senate chamber when the bells rang for the final vote on the junk food bill. When the ‘bells ring’ in the Senate, members have four minutes to get from wherever they are into the chamber, to take their seat and be counted for the vote. It is essentially a head count. Those voting yes sit on the government side of the chamber; those voting no sit on the Opposition’s side. The nanny was packing up the last of Kora’s belongings in the office and getting ready to depart for the airport. Being on my own with Kora, I knew that if I ran upstairs to my office, dropped her off and then ran back down, I would miss the vote. It’s never a good look to miss a vote and, being that it was on a Greens bill, my doing so would have annoyed my colleagues immensely. In the ten years I’ve been in the Senate, I have only missed a vote three times, always because I was out of earshot of the bells.
We were right outside the chamber, so, without thinking much about it, I took her in with me to vote. Unlike parliamentary debates, where you have to speak from your seat, votes are relatively informal. People sit anywhere they like as long as they are on the right side for casting an ‘Aye’ or ‘No’. The only rule is that once you have taken your seat, the Senate doors are locked and you can’t move.
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