Naturally, the Coalition government had no intention of removing the offence of sedition from the legislation. We commissioned an opinion from a senior Sydney barrister, Peter Gray, who advised that, as I suspected, the proposed legislation could indeed encompass artistic expression. The relevant Senate committee examining the proposed legislation concurred. After some public campaigning and political wrangling it was removed—a small tick on the board.
Early on in my new role, I floated a proposal to Chris Evans, who was shadow minister for Indigenous affairs, that we consider approaching the government to offer the mechanism of a joint working group made up of ministers and shadow ministers to try to find a common position on advancing reconciliation. It was the kind of initiative that would take time and trust to develop—both were in short supply—and events moved too fast for the idea to take hold. Similar proposals are around today, and offer one way through the mire; if we can take the partisanship out and consult closely with Indigenous leaders to agree on some basic principles upfront, then there’s a chance that reconciliation, and the programs and positive actions that should go with it, can be achieved.
…
Developing new election policies was a crucial but tedious exercise while in Opposition—undertaking the hard thinking and extensive consultations with interested parties so that, in the event of victory, you can actually do something constructive when you get your hands on the steering wheel. I was struck that party politics seemed to attract plenty of people with a surprisingly bureaucratic mindset, so there was a welter of committees and review processes in place, intended to refine the process but, in many cases, making it more cumbersome.
Still, as the 2007 federal election drew closer, so the task became more urgent. In this period, Kevin Rudd’s ambition to lead Labor was palpable; it was as if he was possessed by a demonic force. At the time, like many others, I saw that this energy and focus might just dislodge the incumbent. Howard was now vulnerable, weakened by community backlash against his industrial legislation, known as WorkChoices, and his intractability in the face of growing scientific alarm around global warming. He appeared to be a man out of sync with the times. Rudd—unlike Beazley, who’d previously failed to best Howard in the 1998 and 2001 elections—looked like the person who might get Labor over the line.
I made my share of mistakes over nearly ten years in parliament, but in light of the trail of destruction and abandoned policy Rudd left as a two-time leader, supporting him was certainly the biggest. Yet the result of his successful challenge for the party leadership was my elevation to the shadow ministry, with added responsibility for the environment, including climate change, and the arts—such are the quirks of politics.
We worked like fury to get Labor in shape for the election.
Priority one was dogging Malcolm Turnbull, then environment minister, with constant reminders of Howard’s neglect on climate change.
On the first day of parliament in February 2005, following Labor’s loss, Howard had told the house that ‘the jury was out’ on the connection between global warming and greenhouse emissions.
By March, the United Nations’ leading scientific body on the issue, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), stated it was ‘unequivocal’ that humans were contributing to climate change. Later that month, record downpours saw massive floods in the Kakadu wetlands, just as the IPCC modelling suggested could happen.
By June, Turnbull was still insisting the Coalition had the most comprehensive plan in the world to address the problem, even as his ministerial colleagues continued to question the science.
An important part of the debate was using this science to buttress the arguments, as we made the case for profound change to a public increasingly anxious about global warming. This meant highlighting the potential impacts on the environment the punters were now seeing, as Australia was still in the grip of severe drought—again, consistent with the scientists’ climate change models—that saw drying rivers and baking landscapes featuring regularly on the television news.
It is rare that there is unanimity on new policy in political parties, and this was the case with climate change for both of Labor’s terms. The argument to embed a renewable-energy target of 20 per cent, a target that had in-principle endorsement, was intense. Shadow resources minister Martin Ferguson was one of a number, including the so-called economic rationalists, who wanted this measure struck out, but it was a case of digging in to make sure a decent target prevailed. It was an important stoush to win and the policy proved more successful than anyone had expected. I needed the support of senior left colleagues, including Chris Evans and Anthony Albanese, to get the commitment inked as we finalised our pre-election promises, but it was a satisfying day when it happened.
The overall climate, environment and arts policies we put up were radical and far reaching. By the time the election was called, there was daylight plus between us and the Coalition, with opinion polls showing that on the question of who was best placed to lead the country when it came to the environment and climate change, Labor led the Coalition by a factor of two to one. And although Rudd would later hand climate change responsibilities to South Australian senator Penny Wong, the policy was now in place to secure one of the most significant economic reforms and the most significant environmental reform the country had ever attempted.
As my three years in Opposition drew to a close, I put the protection of Malabar Headland back on the agenda.
In another example of the colliding worlds that kept cropping up in my parliamentary term, the headland at the southern end of Maroubra Beach was the last remaining tract of undeveloped land in the electorate, and still under the control of the Commonwealth government. Comprising 180 hectares of coastal heath and rare native bushland, it had been a defence site from the early nineteenth century, complete with gun emplacements facing out to sea, intended to repel Russian warships. One section was now used as a rifle range, another by horse-riding clubs, and the western and eastern sections for local bushwalking.
Labor members, state and federal, had long promised that the headland would be returned to NSW and turned into national park, but progress had been so slow that many in the community had given up hope that this would ever happen. Complicating the issue was the fact that under current zoning arrangements, the westerly portion of the site, with sweeping views over the coastline, could be sold off at great profit for housing, which was the long-time fear of local residents.
If I succeeded in doing nothing else locally, I wanted to resolve the future of Malabar Headland. I’d long campaigned on issues like this from the outside. Now I was on the inside, and potentially in government, surely there was a chance to secure this special place. The commitment to return Malabar Headland to NSW, along with a parcel of other policies, including those on climate change and renewable energy, and energising the arts sector, were now in black and white. If we prevailed at the election, and took government, then these commitments could become law. That was the whole point of stepping off the soapbox and the stage for a while—to see what could be achieved in the mad dance of power and policies that passes for politics in our part of the world.
26
ON THE INSIDE
THE MORNING HAS already turned laundromat-warm by the time we emerge from the moderately sized white bungalow with gardens and acres of lawn leading down to Lake Burley Griffin. It’s 3 December 2007, and I’m at Yarralumla, the official residence of the governor-general, Australia’s head of state.
Only nine days before, John Howard’s government had been turfed out of office, with the sitting prime minister himself losing his seat, such was the public’s appetite for new faces.
Time, moving in mysterious ways, lay waiting in the wings, and picked its moment to sneak up and shape-shift my memory. Walking in through the front door of Government House an hour earlier, it didn’t seem so long ago that I was hooning around on a motorbike just over the fence a few hundred metres away, with my m
ate Doddo. And here I am, waiting my turn to be sworn in as, one by one, each ministerial appointee is called forward by the leader to approach the small desk at the front of the room where the paperwork is co-signed by the governor-general, retired military officer Michael Jeffery.
The last chore is to stand with the governor-general on the front steps of the residence for the obligatory photo op. Like polite lady bowlers queued up for lunch, a long line of white government cars wait to ferry freshly minted ministers back to Parliament House. We are a mixture of grizzled veterans and ambitious newbies: union officials, long-time staffers, former members of Young Labor, lots of lawyers and men—I’m guilty on the last two counts. Most of my colleagues have waited all their lives for this moment. I’m the only one to have arrived just in time for the great adventure. This is the pick of the litter from our side of the political divide. In the new cabinet are seventeen men and four women—smart and hardworking, indefatigable opponents—who have proved to be the most adept at climbing to the top. For better or for worse, the prospects of the eleventh federal Labor government rest squarely on our shoulders.
On the way back into Parliament House that morning, Stephen Smith, who’d been the Minister for Foreign Affairs for half an hour, remarked that after you’d done just one thing—and for me that meant something the ‘tories’ wouldn’t dream of doing—then even if a bus fell on you tomorrow, it would have been worth it.
Agreed. No matter what stuff-ups ensued—and there turned out to be one or two—very few people get to occupy high office, and not many stay long. You had to make the most of the opportunity.
…
The road to the ministry hadn’t been without its obstacles. Despite now having done time in Opposition and in the bleachers, I was still the outsider with the inside run, and there would be no free kicks or rescues in or out of the parliament.
Towards the end of the 2007 campaign, I’d bumped into right-wing shock jock Steve Price in the Qantas lounge at Melbourne airport while chatting with Nine’s entertainment reporter, Richard Wilkins. In response to Price’s query about the election I told him not to worry, ‘We’ll change it all’—humour, irony, an off-the-cuff remark, jocular even (which was the nerdy word I later used to describe the incident), but by the time I reached the hotel the dogs of war had been let off the leash.
Price had immediately phoned my quip through to his Liberal mates, and the private conversation was now news. The right-leaning press went into overdrive; Peter Costello weighed in claiming that this was yet more evidence of Labor’s radical plans. Rudd and his office panicked and blocked me from going out and cleaning it up a day later, as one normally does with a gaffe, even one manufactured in the heat of an election campaign. I wasn’t at my sharpest at the time, and with a rabid pack leaping on the comments, the initial press conference was less than satisfactory. But I’d always disliked the dog-ate-my-homework excuse-makers and I wasn’t prepared to blame my slip of the tongue on a brain snap or an off day; I’d simply repeat the expression with a smile and note it was no big deal. But I never got the opportunity, and by the time we reached the campaign launch in Brisbane a couple of weeks later, demonstrators lined the road leading to the Convention Centre holding placards saying: ‘If Labor is elected, they’ll change it all.’ The only people to emerge from the episode with their reputations intact were Richard Wilkins, who stated honestly what had actually happened—namely that it had been a chance remark, no more, no less—and veteran political reporter Laurie Oakes, who reported the incident straight.
But blips like these were forgotten as we were swept into office. The incoming Labor government wanted to make Australia a better, fairer place, with a serious plan to overcome the dead hand of denial and finally do something about impending climate chaos.
Yet the new government was hobbled by its ambitions, and wasn’t this the way it had always been? Labor charts reform, and aims to improve the lot of ordinary Australians. The Coalition parties usually resist in favour of retaining the status quo. Our ambition in the first decade of the new millennium was great.
Here was the opportunity to establish an insurance scheme to cater for the needs of people with disabilities, who’d been shamefully ignored up till now.
Now we could have a national broadband network that took all Australians, wherever they lived, into the era of high-speed digital communications.
At long last there would be a decent, properly indexed pension system for older citizens who’d done their bit for the country.
After years of declining performance, there would be more investment in education and skills to benefit young Australians—regardless of how well off their parents were—from the crucial early years through to university.
The critical transformation of our old, polluting nineteenth-century economy into a low-emissions, planet-friendly exemplar was finally at hand. This was the paramount reform: escaping our dependence on shipping dirt and ore, and generating a raft of employment and investment opportunities in a low-carbon economy to set the country up for the future.
These initiatives weren’t trifles. The last had been a prime reason for me to take the step into parliamentary politics in the first place. Together they would make a big difference to people’s lives, if only we could manage to nail them down.
The to-do list in the environment and arts portfolio for which I now had responsibility was head-spinning.
We would create an emissions trading scheme, partnered with a range of policies to increase energy efficiency, the cheapest and most effective way to reduce greenhouse pollution.
With help from the Renewable Energy Target, solar power—the sleeping giant in a land of abundant sunshine—would be encouraged through solar hot-water rebates and incentives for rooftop solar panels.
We would establish solar cities, with smart grids that provided instant feedback on individual energy use and put decisions about using energy back in the hands of the consumer.
Look out the car window and in many places the land is pummelled and tired. Along 3000 kilometres of the east coast, you couldn’t find an unpolluted river south of Cooktown. It was our intention to refashion natural resource management programs with Caring for Our Country, with ambitious plans to increase the size and number of national parks and reserves that make up the National Reserve System. On top of this, we would triple the funding and create additional Indigenous Protected Areas: tracts of land owned or controlled by Aboriginal people to be managed with a strong focus on the environment and sustainable land use. These steps would provide more conservation corridors across the continent, linking areas of high ecological quality and, hopefully, increasing the resilience of natural landscapes Australia wide.
We had a well-resourced plan to improve water quality for the Great Barrier Reef, the greatest of our natural treasures and a major source of perpetual income. Called Reef Rescue, it gave farmers incentives to reduce the nutrient load on the inshore waters of the reef to increase its capacity to deal with stress in the face of other threats, including climate change.
We wanted to protect breathtaking environments like Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia, Koongarra in Kakadu, and the Kimberley, as well as making sure Australia’s vast ocean estate stayed healthy by creating new marine national parks.
Back on land we envisaged a national waste strategy with the introduction of the first e-waste recycling scheme, covering old computers and televisions.
We would advance the cause of whale conservation, along with two other measures that went to the heart of strengthened environmental decision-making. The first was to use the full powers of the powerful Environment Protection Biodiversity and Conservation (EPBC) Act—the key environmental law—while reviewing the legislation to look at improving its effectiveness. The second was to establish a set of national environmental accounts that would provide up-to-date information about the state of health of all the nation’s ecosystems. If we didn’t all know how our environment was faring, then how could
we plan to improve it, and monitor progress?
This was the bulk of the work plan for three years, and by the end of the term most of it had been achieved. Some energy efficiency measures had foundered along the way, and other initiatives flowed into the next term; many were controversial.
In the early days it was decisions under the EPBC Act that attracted the most attention. These laws gave the minister the power to approve large-scale developments—like a mining operation—by considering its effect on matters of national environmental significance, such as threatened and endangered animal and plant species. The minister would consider the information supplied by the environment department, and he or she could also call for extra reports or research that might help to inform their decision.
This power could be seen in vastly different lights, depending on where you sat on the political spectrum. Coming as I did from a background of environmental activism, the right feared what I would do and the left feared what I wouldn’t. For the business and rural communities and their cheerleaders, the anxiety was that I would use the power I had as ‘the most powerful environmentalist in Australia’, as the Greens described me, to use the environment as an excuse to halt any activity in its tracks. For any community wanting to stop a proposal that might affect their local environment, the fear was that I wouldn’t immediately step in because I was now a Labor politician and thus fatally compromised. Added to this was the false assumption that in every case a minister could do pretty much what they wished.
Our political opponents simply had a bet each way. Some days I was selling out because I wasn’t seen to be taking strong enough action. Other days I was threatening to wreck the economy. In one instance of overblown rhetoric before he lost office, John Howard claimed Labor’s promise to put a price on carbon pollution meant a ‘Garrett recession’ was just around the corner. A front page from The Australian warned of ‘Garrett’s six-billion-dollar solar bill’ as a consequence of promising rebates for solar hot-water systems—a fudged figure that didn’t provide an accurate reading of the real cost and benefits of the scheme.
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