A Thank-You Note for the Yes Campaign

In the spirit of reconciliation, I would like to offer a note of gratitude to the “Yes” campaign, whose cheerleaders and public figures have become—well, all right, accidentally—the most effective advocates for the “No” case. This talent for making the Voice seem as unpalatable as possible comes in a variety of forms, but I like best the “Yes” side’s internal disagreement over what this referendum is really about.

For example, I always appreciate Anthony Albanese’s insistence that voting for the Voice is simply a demonstration of one’s good manners. To be fair, he has slightly expanded his vocabulary on this theme, as he adds to such a risible argument that it would also be assenting to a “modest” and “gracious” request. Sceptical voters, I’m pleased to report, must have noticed the Prime Minister’s own unmannerly conduct when he’s politely asked to elaborate on this topic: his prickliness when queried about those pesky details has had—fingers crossed—a particularly dooming effect. Again, to be charitable, he has also admitted to having not bothered to read the Uluru Statement in its entirety, so he isn’t the ideal person to consult on his own proposal anyway.

Albanese’s Referendum Working Group, I’m also happy to report, has principally worked on alienating potential voters. Professor Marcia Langton is my favourite in this regard, and not only for her customary difficulty in reaching the end of a sentence without calling someone a racist. Langton’s greatest contribution has been to validate the concerns and arguments of the “No” side. In fact, those who have called the Voice designers mere constitutional vandals, according to Langton, have understated their case. At a recent Lowitja Institute conference in Cairns, she informed her audience: “People who are opposing the Voice are saying we are destroying the fabric of their sacred constitution. Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly what we are doing.”

Langton has been ably assisted in this project by fellow Working Group member and ubiquitous “Yes” campaigner Thomas Mayo. His preferred cliché is that the Voice is simply a gift from Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders to the rest of Australia, and that there is nothing mysterious or controversial about it at all. One person who disputes that characterisation of the Voice is Thomas Mayo himself, who adds a few immodest details to the proposal when he’s firing off posts on social media or firing up his comrades in speeches and rallies.

On these truth-telling occasions, Mayo gets positively giddy as he imagines the unlimited scope and vast powers of the Voice, which he calls “a black political force to be reckoned with”. He also daydreams about punishing any politician who stands in his way, a goal that sits somewhat at odds with all that rot about graciousness and gift-giving. In fact, Mayo has also let slip that non-indigenous Australians—sometime after gratefully receiving the Voice—are expected to reciprocate with a gift of their own, in the form of rental payments, reparations and land.

Mayo has spent the last six years making these varying cases for the Voice and, I gather, auditioning for his own role on the body should the referendum be successful. Of course, if Mayo ends up disappointed, the “No” camp really ought to send him a thank-you note to cheer him up, as I’m not sure if anyone has dissuaded more voters from writing “Yes”. In a recent interview, Mayo said he hasn’t even contemplated failure, still seemingly unaware that he contributes to that failure with his every utterance. Not to worry, though: there’ll be plenty of opportunities for quiet contemplation after the vote, when Thomas Mayo, finally, is likely to have quite a bit of free time on his hands.

The book under review, On the Voice to Parliament by Charles Prouse, is the latest addition to the campaign literature—which side it serves, however, isn’t immediately obvious. Of course, it’s meant to be a moving and persuasive case for voting “Yes”, written by an author with real authority and expertise in indigenous affairs. Instead, much like the efforts of Langton, Pearson et al, this short book neatly encapsulates just about everything that’s wrong with the Voice and why our Constitution is just fine without it.

At first glance, Prouse departs from the modes of others by making his case in a relentlessly boring manner. Unlike most Voice advocates, who prefer militant threats and creative insults, Prouse initially offers a series of platitudes that anyone would nod along to; there is, though, the risk that the reader may just nod off. The Voice, he would like you to know, “is an issue of nationhood and the Prime Minister is asking us to have a conversation that is important for our future”. What’s more, it’ll be decided by all those “little conversations” Australians have with each other in the lead-up to voting day.

He bangs on like this for a few more skimmable pages, as he wrings his hands about the many problems confronting us: “It’s a lot to contemplate. And maybe I’m not the person to talk about such things.” Again, there’s much to agree with here. He soon began to lose me, though, when he got down to the real business of the Voice, its alleged details, and how constitutional enshrinement will have a magically transformative effect on the lives of all Australians.

Fairly high up on the “No” camp’s bill of complaint has been the lack of openness about the details. To his credit, I suppose, rather than lie for the cause and say it’s all there if you look, Prouse embraces and spruiks a Voice that’s currently a bit short on clarity. What we’ve been kindly provided with, he writes, is “a proposed ‘model’, it gives a lot of information on what the Voice to Parliament might look like if we vote Yes, and it will need further work”.

This is exactly why Australians have remained rightly sceptical of the proposal: we want answers now, not—and Prouse seems too obtuse to realise this—after we’ve voted for the most significant constitutional alteration in our nation’s history. For Prouse, anyone who dares to make this point is guilty of setting “a trap” for the voters, an accusation that gets flung around every few pages or so. I quite like all the projection contained in his word choice, though: if any side is trying to ensnare the public, it’s the one that promises to let you know what you’ve voted for only after you’ve written “Yes”.

Prouse is equally useless on the link between establishing the Voice and the supposed benefits it will bring. In some cringey paragraphs—which I just can’t bring myself to quote—he warms to the subject by asking readers to imagine how happy they’ll be after a successful referendum. This includes, for some reason, improved relations with neighbours and friends. And then, just as we’re about to be enlightened on the Voice’s transmogrifying effects, he cuts himself off: “I won’t unpack it for you—get informed and have the conversations.” Prouse doesn’t even offer any original empty arguments; instead, he redirects readers to the empty arguments of others.

The best part of the book is a long lament about the shuttering of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, where Prouse kicked off his career in the Aboriginal industry. There’s a bit of mandatory Howard-bashing and a good deal of unconvincing revisionism on how terrific ATSIC was. The problem, Prouse sniffs, is that ATSIC’s funding was “paltry”, which is another way of wishing for more taxpayer lucre to rip through and mismanage.

“Something died again for me when ATSIC was taken from us,” he writes. The resurrection, handily enough, he finds in the Uluru Statement from the Heart. For Prouse, the Voice—and he makes this connection more explicit than the “No” camp does—would indeed be a constitutionally enshrined version of ATSIC, one that could never be abolished by government. This is yet another example of how often during this campaign Voice critics have been able to take the day off: it’s much easier and more effective to let the “Yes” case discredit itself.

Continuing with this theme, while Prouse exhorts the reader to become better informed, he shows little indication he has dipped into any of the homework himself. This is particularly embarrassing when it comes to the Voice’s remit, as he misreports: “There will be standards that guide the Voice on what it will and won’t focus on.” As most voters are by now aware, Voice architects neglected to include any limiting principle in their constitutional provision, which will permit members to get up to whatever they fancy.

Immune to these facts, Prouse avers that “the questions of whether the Voice will be deciding our military capabilities … are born out of fear and laziness”. Sally Scales, a member of Albanese’s referendum advisory group, would like to rebut this claim. Her most notable contribution to the debate has been to suggest that the AUKUS submarine pact wouldn’t be foreign to the Voice’s policy. Again, this is an instance where it’s best to leave the Voice backers to squabble while the prospective “No” tally grows.

Prouse’s get-out-the-yes-vote strategy backfires in a few other amusing ways. In preparation for a guilt trip, he switches to second-person point of view and imputes responsibility for the crimes and failures of the past to his non-indigenous readership: “We’ve been ignored, killed and broken because you think you know what’s better for us.” This technique, I’d argue, has diminishing appeal. Of course, a certain white progressive cohort—you know, the ones who refer to themselves as settlers on Naarm and acknowledge country every ten minutes—will lap it up, but I suspect that more Australians are getting weary of the endless demands to say sorry and atone for their inherited colonial sins.

Another person keen to remind you of your guilt is Prouse’s mother, whom he recruits to the “Yes” camp. He pads out the book’s final section with a transcript of their wide-ranging conversation, which touches on everything from what’s wrong with “the white man” to what’s the worst that will happen if the Voice referendum fails. Well, things will escalate quickly, according to a loony prediction from Mrs Prouse: “And we’ll get that dictatorship. That dictatorship will continue, Charles.”

A stern editor might have questioned the wisdom of including all this, but you won’t hear any complaints from me, honestly. It brings to a close, one might say, a conversation that’s included a good deal of finger-wagging, misinformation, misplaced praise for ATSIC and a Voice model that we’re no closer to comprehending. On a final note—and this should clinch the matter—Prouse hints at, should the Voice get up, “better integration of our ancient culture for everyone”. Which means, I fear, longer and more frequent welcome-to-country ceremonies.

I’m happy to endorse On the Voice to Parliament, not for its arguments or prose, but because of a sense that it will exacerbate the frustration of soft “Yes” voters and effect an outbreak of good sense. As a bonus, readers inclined to vote “No” will come to the end of the book with those intentions very much intact.

At this late stage in the campaign, these kinds of sentiments are the main topics of the “little conversations” that will decide the referendum. Charles Prouse and other Voice advocates may not like what they’re now hearing, but they’re the ones responsible for steering the conversations in this direction. That’s one of the reasons why, right from the outset, I’ve expressed my gratitude to the “Yes” side and encouraged my fellow “No” voters to do the same. After all, and as we’ve been reminded for just about the last time, this referendum is really about showing good manners.

On the Voice to Parliament
by Charles Prouse
Hachette Australia, 2023, 87 pages, $16.99

Timothy Cootes lives in Sydney and contributes frequently to Quadrant Online. He reviewed Thomas Mayo & Kerry O’Brien’s Voice to Parliament Handbook in the July-August issue