With frontbencher Jonno Duniam’s decision the bail out of politics, the Liberals are not just further depleted, but the parliament is losing someone of the calibre we want to see there.
Duniam performs well on policy and on the politics. He looks for compromises (often more than his party does), can negotiate in the Senate, and comes across strongly in the media. At 43 he had a long career ahead, even if the Coalition’s future appears bleak. So why jump, especially as he says he has no job lined up?
He referred, as would be expected, to family reasons – three young sons. But notably, he also admitted he was “exhausted”.
Citing the February leadership change as “catalysing” his decision, he gave an insight into how it feels to be inside politics at high pressure points.
When you take a job seriously, you give it everything. You get up every day, you go hard, you do your best. You try not to let anyone down and you try and cover the field.
In opposition, you’ve got to be everywhere, talking to everyone, doing as much as you can or else you’ll get completely missed.
The leadership change was an exhausting process. It was a difficult one. I mean we’d come off the back of dealing with net zero, again internally as our party grappled with that issue. That personally was very exhausting. I’d only just taken on the home affairs portfolio. We had our response to Bondi, again a deeply exhausting process, one that I put a lot of effort into, supported by others of course.
But, when the leadership change came along, it started to really wear on me. It was less about direction and more about my personal energy levels. And to that end, that is why I made that decision.
Particular circumstances, especially party dramas when leading players are under intense heat internally and externally – as Duniam was in the Liberal leadership change – will always pile on the stress. But Duniam’s description also prompts wider questions about how politics is operating these days.
Of course politicians should be busy and demands on them should rightfully be high. And given the public cynicism about them, they won’t get much sympathy. People will say, “they are not conscripts”, “they get plenty of money and perks”, “I wish I had it as good”.
All true. But also true is that contemporary political life has become crazy, thanks to a combination of the hyper-professionalisation of politics and the 24-hour news cycle.
If you are the government or opposition, the news cycle has to be filled all the time or the other side will do it. The major parties deploy their troops, with military precision, onto the media battlefield on all fronts: the morning programs, during the day, into the night, through the weekends.
The troops come supplied with the “talking points”: weaponry that allows the Minister for Nothing Much to sprout an answer to the question “how will Jim Chalmers’ changes to capital gains tax work for a business in such-and-such circumstances?” when, without this synthetic crutch, he or she likely wouldn’t have a clue. In earlier times, when ministers appeared less frequently and mostly just talked about their own remit, this minister could stick to the small but significant issues in their Department for Nothing Much.
For many “on-site” news conferences held by government and opposition frontbenchers, a dress code is mandatory. Hi-vis gear and hard hats have become de rigeur (can anyone recall when this happened?). That can be even if the closest falling object is likely to be voters’ wrath. Anthony Albanese and Clare O’Neil on Monday were at a future housing site appropriately dressed in bright lemon jackets and white helmets.
Lukas Coch/AAP
The “weekend” disappeared a long time ago for many workers, and it certainly has for politicians on the frontline. Not only do they have their traditional electorate functions, but the senior ones are rostered to Saturday or Sunday news conferences, including and especially the prime minister (and the opposition leader, if he doesn’t want pesky questions along the lines of that old travel advertisement “so where the bloody hell are you?”).
There probably once was a time (relegated to fairy tales) when audiences would not have appreciated politicians seeking attention live on TV on Sunday mornings. Now, these appearances are strategised as carefully by the parties as by the programs.
While both sides have to meet the constant media requests, it’s harder for the opposition, with its fewer numbers and resources.
Then there is the constant travelling. Paradoxically, the easier and faster travel has become, the more demanding it can become for the politicians because they are having (or choosing) to do more of it. This puts particular strains on ministers, who have thinking work they need to be attending to, preferably when they are not worn out.
The “permanent election campaign” means frontbenchers are on the move throughout a parliamentary term, rather than just when elections are drawing near.
Other disincentives (such as the intrusions into personal lives and the often horrific personal attacks via social media) are disincentives to good people entering politics. But the sheer relentless nature of it all, highlighted by Duniam, sends a discouraging message.
