(Image: Mitchell Squire/Private Media)

On August 17 Crikey reported with some relish the unfortunate timing of the release of John Howard’s new book: A Sense of Balance. It was more or less the exact moment revelations of Scott Morrison’s multi-ministries came to light. 

Howard had booked himself on 7.30 that night to spruik his tome, but instead faced a barrage of questions from Sarah Ferguson about Morrison. He was not happy.

There is some divine justice in Howard’s acolyte, Morrison — as the one who, more than any other, has shaped the contemporary Liberal Party — managing to bugger up Howard’s big moment. The fact also that the book missed out on any mention of the Morrison intrigues almost certainly guarantees its rapid despatch to the remainder bins — if that fate wasn’t likely anyway. 

But before it disappears entirely into irrelevance, it and Howard’s continuing role in national politics is worth considering. There’s one notion I wish to focus on, which relates to the book’s title.

It has been an uncanny conjuring trick of the former prime minister that as possibly the country’s most right-leaning federal leader, he has managed to effect some image of himself as the sober and balanced centrist. During his time in office this came about through a range of rhetorical techniques: the supposed pragmatic appeal to the Aussie everyman; the plain speaking; the faux modesty. 

Another key element, one not often commented on, was a pattern of communicating policies and positions — often highly contentious ones (e.g. refugees; industrial relations; foreign policy) — via a distinctive two-part formulation.

The first part, proposition one, would typically see some worthy, reassuring quality about the nation invoked (the fair go, the fundamental decency of Australians, etc). This would be followed by an emphatic BUT, whereupon Howard would insist — often against his better judgment — that circumstances compelled him to embark on some course starkly at odds with the sentiment expressed. 

The method was evident in what was probably Howard’s most significant rhetorical moment: the notorious declaration in the Tampa election:

We are a generous open-hearted people. We have a proud record of welcoming people from 140 different nations.

BUT…

We will decide who comes to this county and in the circumstances in which they come.

This tried and true formula was used regularly in his prime ministership — always to make palatable to the public some more extreme measure.

Thus in a press conference announcing the country’s entry into the Iraq War, Howard prefaced the moment by talking about the horrors of war: “I mean we all hate war.” His preference overwhelmingly, he said, was to be talking at the time about health policy and water policy.

“BUT I can’t do that,” was his grim conclusion, before launching into a systematic laying out of the “evidence” for weapons of mass destruction.

The same again in the way he prepared the public for the government’s major IR reform, WorkChoices:

It is people’s right to join a trade union and it will never be the policy of this government to deny people a choice … BUT we do need still more flexibility, and I think we need a more nationally consistent industrial relations system.

This was a large part of Howard’s success in his years in office, to be able to push through a radical agenda on many fronts while managing to appear — at least to a sizeable segment of the community — the reasonable, pragmatic and “balanced” leader. 

These same rhetorical manoeuvres are in evidence in his new book. Thus on climate change he eschews any suggestion of denialism — “I am not blind to the scientific arguments” — but then devotes the next pages to explaining why far less should be done on the issue, including citing some of his favourite denialists and sceptics: Bjorn Lomborg and William Nordhaus.

On the question of a Voice to Parliament, Howard spends some time acknowledging the aspirations of Indigenous peoples but then happily provides a kiss of death for any prospects of the Voice getting up: “My suspicion is that anything that carries the taint of divisiveness will fail as a referendum question.”

The book rails against many issues, but with these always couched in this tone of affected moderation. There is opposition to constitutional change; to the promotion of diversity; to action on climate; to any positive role for unions; to any mechanism to enhance female representation in the party. Regret is even expressed seemingly for women’s increased participation in the workforce. 

There is a good deal of praise for Morrison’s leadership — and, of course, for his own record of achievement in government.

The “sense of balance” in the book is a con, as was the calculated projection of this notion during his prime ministership. Eventually the public got wind of the con — WorkChoices was where the façade finally fell away — and the voters not only tipped his government out of office, but also out of his seat. Mungo MacCallum’s “unflushable turd” was finally gone.

Yet in all this time there’s never been any flushing out in the Liberal Party. It remains a mystery that the Liberal Party clings to the notion that Howard is still the man. It blithely despatches him to every election campaign to lure the voters — with seemingly zero impact. And then when everyone else is seeing him as more likely an electoral liability than an asset, he is brought into the defeated party room to help point them — oracle-like — towards some shining road to success.

The timing alone of Howard’s book has rendered it virtually irrelevant in national debate. For however long the Liberal Party continues to embrace the “sense of balance” outlined in it, a similar fate looks likely for it. 

Do Howard’s opinions mean anything to you? Let us know your thoughts by writing to letters@crikey.com.au. Please include your full name to be considered for publication. We reserve the right to edit for length and clarity.