CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Battles
1970–1971
When he rose in the House on 19 March 1970 to deliver his ministerial statement, nine days after Fraser’s well-received one, McMahon was well aware of the dangers that could befall him. What had happened to Gordon Freeth was not going to happen to him.1 He was determined to avoid any such mistakes.2 Speaking quickly and without some of the panache of his past performances,3 McMahon said he would set out a candid assessment of Australia’s foreign-policy objectives amid a world in a profound state of change.4 What followed mixed the obstinate with the clear-eyed, and hardly suggested a new course for Australian foreign policy. Yes, the USSR had engaged with the West, signed the Partial Test Ban and the Nuclear Non-Proliferation treaties, and, yes, it had agreed to a ban on the use of outer space for nuclear war — but apart from disarmament, there were no signs of détente, he argued.
On China, he held to the attitudes he had stated back in 1958. China could not forever remain on the periphery of the international community, but, in the absence of evidence that China was prepared to comply with ‘the broad rules of international behaviour’, he could not countenance change. ‘Consequently we still regard communist China and other communist regimes as a central obstacle to peace, stability, and ordered progress throughout Asia.’ The Guam Doctrine, enunciated by US president Nixon in July 1969 and confirmed again in February 1970, ensured Australia enjoyed the support of the US, and this was welcome news, particularly since the British were to be gone from the Asia-Pacific by December 1971.
From there, McMahon moved to Japan, to note its ever-increasing significance to Australia in trade — and stressed its importance to stability and prosperity in the Asia-Pacific region. That was something new: no external affairs minister since World War II had given Japan such prominence. McMahon was recognising Japan’s ability to assume a role much broader than its trade status. Within the Asia-Pacific region, he said, Japan had an important role to play, diplomatically and politically. Meanwhile, on Vietnam, he argued that the situation was improving: ‘I have no doubt that our common objectives in Vietnam are capable of being achieved.’
Yet just as important, and problematic for the central thrust of McMahon’s statement, were the sudden shifts and turmoil that had engulfed Laos and Cambodia in the days and weeks preceding his speech. In Laos, North Vietnamese soldiers had launched an offensive across the Plain of Jars. In Cambodia, on the day before McMahon’s speech, the head of state, Prince Norodom Sihanouk, had been deposed. Sihanouk’s fraught pursuit of neutrality in the Vietnam conflict had weakened his political position and become impossible to maintain, especially as North Vietnamese and Vietcong forces used Cambodia’s neutrality to occupy and operate from within its borders. The prime minister, General Lon Nol, had been convinced to lead a coup and establish a new government that would abandon neutrality and become a pro-West state.
McMahon was aware of the implications for Australia. As he noted that night, the Asia-Pacific region and the Middle East were the two places where crises affecting world peace and stability were likely to arise.5 Those implications became urgent in the weeks that followed McMahon’s speech.6 Taking advantage of the turmoil of Sihanouk’s deposition, and provoked by Nol’s pro-West regime, the North Vietnamese and Vietcong rapidly expanded their control of Cambodian territory, spurring calls for diplomatic talks. Indonesia’s foreign minister, Adam Malik, called for a regional solution that would preserve Cambodia’s independence and neutrality, prevent a foreign military intervention, and re-activate the International Control Commission, established in 1954 to implement and monitor the Geneva Accords that had ended the First Indochina War.7 After hesitating initially, McMahon came out in support of a diplomatic conference to discuss a solution. He soon convinced Gorton and McEwen that Australia should take part, should it be held.8 ‘Australia is ready to take part in such a meeting and believes it should convene at the earliest possible date,’ he said, on 27 April.9
Inevitably, however, the problems of consultation and reliance on American decisions rose again. Without forewarning Australia, Nixon announced that American and South Vietnamese military forces would be ordered into Cambodian territory with a mission to destroy the strengthening communist threat; at around the same time, the new Cambodian government made an appeal for military and economic assistance to respond to the communist aggression.
The Gorton government had a dilemma. If it voiced support for Nixon’s decision and agreed to provide military assistance, it could fairly be said to have undermined the conference before it even began. But silence, too, could be as damaging to its relationship with the United States. In cabinet on 1 May, McMahon argued that while Australia might ‘applaud’ what the US was doing, it should be quiet about it in order to preserve its options for the future. ‘Least said the better,’ he said.10 Cabinet agreed: Australia would continue to support and participate in the conference, but it also acknowledged and sympathised with the American decision to intervene in Cambodia. It was a difficult position to balance, was unlikely to win favour with anyone, and the government did itself no favours by not announcing it until 5 May. When he did so, speaking in the House, Gorton committed to ‘try by diplomatic means’ to ensure Cambodia’s neutrality, but soon swung towards attacking the Labor Party. Responding to Whitlam’s criticism of Nixon and the ‘widening’ of the war, Gorton pointed to the North Vietnamese and Vietcong violation of Cambodia’s neutrality and the necessity of a response. Arguments like Whitlam’s, Gorton said:
[…] are for the theory that Communist forces should be allowed to operate as and when they like; that they should be excused for invading and occupying neutral countries; and that it is wrong for action to be taken to stop them and that such comments by giving that support, to me, Sir, show a willingness, even a desire, to accept defeat or surrender of Allied forces in South Vietnam.11
Rhetorically it was a strong response, but there was little denying that Gorton spoke from a position of weakness. Nixon’s announcement, on 20 April, that America would withdraw another 150,000 troops over the coming year was a blow to the Australian government’s efforts to sustain flagging public support for the war. Cabinet’s response to Nixon’s announcement was uncertain. It recognised the need and desire to withdraw Australian troops, but had little inkling of how to present the decision. McMahon told Howson later that an initial draft, which had announced that a battalion would not be replaced when its rotation ended in November, was ‘a terrible hash’, and cabinet had forced Gorton to rewrite it.12 Left only with a ‘form of words’ for ‘guidance’, Gorton announced the decision in the House on 22 April, retaining a caveat that further withdrawals within the next year were possible.13
Labor was now set to reap the rewards of its implacable opposition to the war. Whitlam pointed out that the government was reactive. He argued that its policy for South-East Asia was ‘in ruins’, that its rationale for its policy had ‘crumbled’, that the premise of Australia’s involvement in Vietnam was ‘false and untenable’, and that the regularly invoked objectives were ‘unattainable’. ‘It is time to end trying to save face and start trying to save lives,’ Whitlam said. The war in Vietnam, he said, ‘is the war of a party; it is not the war of this nation.’14
The lethality of Whitlam’s rhetoric was sharpened by his awarenesss that public opposition to the war was reaching a critical mass. The visibility of the protest movement in the United States, the growing toll of killed and wounded soldiers and civilians, the scandals and horrors of My Lai, and the repeated inconsistencies of the government’s policy towards Vietnam were difficult to ignore — and about to become impossible. Inspired by similar marches in the United States, preparations were underway for a ‘moratorium’ campaign to protest against Australia’s involvement in Vietnam. Whitlam, therefore, could not have felt more confident when he replied to Gorton.
If the government hoped that its announcement
would cool the fervour of the protesters, it was to be sorely disappointed. To opponents and supporters both, the reduction seemed uncertain, a bastardised compromise; for some, it suggested that further action could be spurred by more protests, more public pressure. More than 200,000 people turned out throughout the country to protest on 8 May, with Labor frontbencher Jim Cairns, the member for Lalor, a prominent leader of the campaign.
There was, therefore, a charged backdrop when McMahon left Australia for Djakarta, Indonesia — the site of the conference — on 14 May. The foreign ministers of Indonesia, Japan, Korea, New Zealand, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, South Vietnam, and representatives of the Laotian government were in attendance, but the absence of the United States, the USSR, and communist countries caused many to dismiss the conference as irrelevant. McMahon said otherwise, but there was no doubt that the potential for agreement on a workable solution was low.15 In spite of this, as McMahon’s private secretary, Kim Jones, said later, McMahon was ‘very keen’ on the conference. He took an active role in it: ‘McMahon put his heart into participating.’16
Conducted under the Indonesian musyawarah system, in which decisions could only be reached by consensus, the conference was almost certainly a failure as far as solutions for Cambodia were concerned.17 The joint communiqué issued at the end urged cessation of hostilities and withdrawal of foreign forces from Cambodia, stated that the Cambodian people should control their own problems, and that the International Control Commission be re-activated in order to arrive at a ‘just, peaceful and effective resolution of the present situation’.18 The last proposal received a cool reception: few had any confidence in the commission’s ability to ensure future agreements were kept, and the inability to isolate Cambodia’s problems from those of the region meant that little could be done otherwise. Within three days of the conference’s conclusion, the main proposals had been firmly rejected.19
In spite of this, the conference was among the highest points of McMahon’s time as minister for external affairs.20 In lending support to Indonesia’s efforts to hold the conference, McMahon ensured Australia maintained good relations with its neighbours and strengthened the willingness of Asian-Pacific countries to work for regional solutions.21 By remaining involved after the US and UK declined invitations to attend, he ensured that Australia’s foreign policy could not be said to be defined by its alliances with both. By remaining involved in spite of Australia’s support for America’s action in Cambodia, he ensured that Australia’s commitment to diplomacy remained evident. McMahon’s encouragement of Japan’s involvement was also important, particularly as Japan agreed to serve, alongside Malaysia and Indonesia, on a task force that consulted with the United Nations on ways to implement the conference recommendations. It was an opportunity for Japan to exercise the broader role McMahon had encouraged in his statement of 19 March. He had managed to balance Australia’s alliance with and support of the US with its involvement in regional diplomatic efforts for peace and stability. In sum, McMahon had put the statements of his speech into practice.
Back home, however, the government had plunged into fresh turmoil. On the same evening that Gorton announced the government’s position on the Djakarta conference and Cambodia — that is, 5 May — McEwen had introduced legislation to establish the AIDC. The shouts and yells of a ‘vociferous’ opposition during McEwen’s second-reading speech had not provoked an outpouring of support from the government’s side of the House. The Liberal-Country Party backbenches, Howson observed giddily, had been ‘completely silent’.22 Beginning on 14 May, and continuing over the next week, Howson led a sustained attack on the AIDC. ‘Is this Corporation really needed? Is there a firm demand established by the Government for this Corporation and for the tasks that it is expected to perform?’ he asked. ‘So far in this debate, I do not believe that a full and sufficient case has been made out for this Corporation.’23 Fellow backbenchers described the AIDC as socialistic, and suggested that those within the government supporting it were not real Liberals. There was, however, no disguising the fact that Gorton was as much a target as the legislation. During the drawn-out debate, Howson and his allies sought to make amendments, to make a general nuisance and disrupt Gorton’s plans. Even Labor could see it. ‘It is now 12.45 a.m.,’ said Fred Daly wearily, on 21 May, ‘and we are debating in this Parliament not the provisions of this legislation but the machinations and hatreds in the once great Liberal Party and the feeling against the Prime Minister.’24
The AIDC was but a background drama to further, more serious, trouble. In January, cabinet had decided that the Commonwealth should assert its jurisdiction over offshore areas, clarifying that its sovereignty ran from the low-water mark — that is, the level reached by the sea at low tide — to the edge of the continental shelf.25 The move had been made in order to end a long-running dispute and ambiguity over which level of government possessed sovereignty over these offshore areas. At stake was potential revenue, via mining permits and royalties, and the implementation of environmental protection.
The state governments had been involved in negotiations on the matter for the previous two years, and, when the cabinet decision was announced in March, they reacted with scorn, anger, and full-throated criticism. In addition to arguing that the decision was an infringement of states’ rights, premiers argued that it broke an undertaking for consultation and discussion that Fairbairn had given while minister for national devlopment. Criticism of Gorton and his approach was everywhere in the media, in the state and federal parties. McMahon was aware of the discontent, and concerned by where it could lead. Howson, recording that McMahon believed public opinion against Gorton was ‘getting restive’, thought that McMahon was also wondering about his position and his future.26 Others, like Snedden, thought that ‘there was a conspiracy going on’, the chief beneficiary of which would be McMahon.27 Matters were serious — and becoming more so by the day. On 30 April, Reg Swartz, the minister for national development, tabled all correspondence that had passed between Fairbairn and the states; on 8 May, with Gorton in Japan, Fairbairn decided to speak in the House.
Feelings about it were high. Having briefed journalists about the issue for days, Howson was confiding in his diary that ‘things are brewing up toward a crisis’. After Fairbairn spoke, Howson was sure that one was imminent.28 The thrust of Fairbairn’s speech was simple. He accused Gorton of failing to honour a commitment that he, Fairbairn, had given on behalf of the government. A commitment had been made, Fairbairn argued, and now — since Fairbairn’s resignation from the ministry, since the cabinet decision to assert Commonwealth sovereignty — it had been ‘dishonoured’.29
The seriousness of Fairbairn’s attack was evident to all but McMahon, who initially failed to perceive its significance.30 As Howson told him, the charge against Gorton was searing, all the more for the reputation of the man making it. Howson’s hopes for an imminent crisis — potentially within the next week of the parliamentary session — were sustained by his subsequent conversations with colleagues31 and further fortified by conversations with McEwen, whom, he suggested, should consider whether he would be willing to take on the prime ministership in a caretaker mode.32
Gorton replied to Fairbairn on 15 May. According to him, Fairbairn’s understanding of matters was mistaken. Cabinet had decided in February 1969 to legislate to assert Commonwealth rights over the seabed outside the three-mile limit, and Fairbairn had been deputised to inform the state ministers of that decision. Fairbairn’s belief that a commitment had been given to undertake prior consultation was incorrect. ‘The discussions which had been suggested were not discussions on whether or when we should legislate, but discussions on the administrative and other consequential effects of our legislation on what is called the regime.’ Gorton had examined the record, and regarded it as failing to support Fairbairn’s charges. ‘I believe that that seems a flimsy ground on which to accuse the government of dishonour and it is not supported
by the record.’33
The matter might well have rested there had Labor not intervened to exploit the tensions that were still swirling. Citing Fairbairn’s accusations and Gorton’s response, Rex Patterson, the Labor member for Dawson and a former officer in the Department of National Development, moved an amendment of no confidence in Gorton’s leadership and his cabinet.34 Once Whitlam had seconded the amendment, Gorton moved immediately to bring the debate on as a motion of censure.35
However his critics might denigrate him, Gorton still possessed shrewd judgement and an ability to make quick decisions. Bringing the debate on immediately was evidence of this. It raised the stakes. The ‘termites’ undermining Gorton’s leadership, as Hughes called them, had a choice. They could support the motion, and thus bring down the government, or part ways with Fairbairn’s criticism and vote with the government. Howson saw this immediately, particularly after Fairbairn declared that, as it was a matter of his honour, he would vote against the government on the issue.36
It was only half-past twelve: there was plenty of time in the day for the debate to go on. Yet the whole affair was given an additional urgency by the government’s unexpectedly small majority. Labor only required a few Liberals to support the motion in order to win. It had one already, in Fairbairn, and critics like Jeff Bate were intimating that they, too, would cross the floor. Exacerbating matters, Labor decided to cancel all pairing arrangments but for the one concerning McMahon. Absent Labor MPs were called to Canberra; when word of this leaked, Gorton’s office began making urgent calls to missing Liberals to return to Canberra immediately. There was an air of panic throughout the building. The whip’s office thought that a vote taken at twelve-thirty would have been equal, which would draw the Speaker and his casting vote into play.
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