Yarralumla Requires Bottom, Not Front

It would be mean to remind her that she owes her new greatness to the nomination of a mere man—Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. But it is fair to stress that the front door to Yarralumla is only the starting point of a five-year journey. What deeply matters is the job she does from now on. It would be small comfort to Australian women in particular if in five years time they had to conclude that the first of their sisters to become viceroy had either led their country into troubles, or allowed it to drift there.

It is no comfort that Quentin Bryce has served what some people might call an apprenticeship, as governor of Queensland; indeed, that may be an ill-omen. Our first governor-general, Lord Hopetoun, had served as governor of the colony of Victoria with success and popularity, gained an extended term of office, and retired to England and to English politics. When the inauguration of the Commonwealth of Australia loomed in 1901, he seemed the perfect choice as the governor-general who would manage a smooth start for a new nation. He had a miserable time. He invited Sir William Lyne to form the first Commonwealth government, but matters went awry, and the opening ministry was led by Edmund Barton; the unlucky governor-general’s name is now known chiefly to history through the phrase “the Hopetoun Blunder”—not altogether fairly. Amid soured relations with the Commonwealth, he requested early recall to London.

There was always an air of precipitancy about the early appointment of Bryce. Did Rudd want to get a mate from Queensland quickly in to Yarralumla? To run no risk of the ghost of John Kerr rising? When the Queen received the Bryce nomination, Bryce might be said at least to have finished with her training wheels. But Rudd was still (so to speak) wearing his prime ministerial nappies.

Let me at the outset say that I learned of her appointment with deep misgivings; as quickly, let me add that I have no private animus against Her Excellency; that my doubts are based on intuitions as much as on established facts; and that nothing would please me more than eventually to say: “Well, I was wrong!” leaving it to my friends—and others—to add, “Again!”

But the impressions she has made on me, over the years, are of a pushy supermiss whose chief refrain was “Look at me-oh!” She seemed to have great vigour and unlimited ambition, one of those clever but not deeply intellectual academics of whom I have known hundreds. (Has she, by the way, ever published any substantial book, by which we might truly judge the temper of her mental metal?)

In short, she has struck me as fitting Doctor Johnson’s definition of a person who lacked “bottom”, his quaint expression for one in want of genuine depth, gravitas and discretion.

Her unprecedented television interview with Kerry O’Brien, just as if she had been some common celebrity, was an obvious early error. No governor-general should have exposed herself to snide questions about the private lives of her family. (“Nudge! Wink! Have you read the Sunday Telegraph?”)

Mercifully, there was no television reference to the changes of staff at Yarralumla, made at her insistence even before she took office; this had created a distinct public impression of a bossy-boots at work. And how did this hissy-fit become publicly known? The details of a governor-general’s household, and a great deal more, should be wholly confidential. Perhaps Her Excellency —perhaps all governors-general—should inscribe on their study wall for their own daily self-admonition, the quatrain of John Donne:

I have done a braver thing

Than all the Worthies did,

And a braver thence doth spring,

Which is, to keep that hid.

From several themes which emerged during the O’Brien interview, it was clear that our twenty-fifth governor-general carries into office with her an agenda of her own; she has certain personal political and social objectives for Australia; certain goals which, if scored, will make her term of office “historic”. In her own words: “I am not going to waste any opportunity that comes to me, to make a difference, to bring about change.” O’Brien asked whether she would, for example, telephone the Prime Minister, and demand action about any matter which “shocked” her. Answer: “You certainly may have to do that.” Clear enough and candid enough, surely? So we are back in the days of Sir William Deane, the governor-general who believed that you could be head of state, and also meddle at will in the bearpit of politics. With the greatest respect to Her Excellency, she might remind herself of the stinging rebuke to Deane, delivered by Professor Geoffrey Blainey from the floor of the Constitutional Convention in 1998.

The Governor-General has proclaimed her special care for particular sections of the population, notably women and Aborigines. Her private sentiments would be supported by many, perhaps most Australians, but she misses the point: a head of state has ceased to be a private citizen, and may not at her whim divide the rest of the population into sheep and goats. If tenderness for the disadvantaged was her ruling motive, why did she accept the glittering promotion to viceroy, with its many inescapable fetters and limitations? Her duty now is to deal impartially with everyone who is an Australian citizen—yes, alas, even with male chauvinist pigs and rednecked racists, provided their conduct is not unlawful.

Her position on the reserve powers of the governor-general seems to lay not one, but two landmines under the Constitution she swore to uphold. The reserve powers are potentially awesome, and are necessary to enable a responsible head of state to deal with emergencies and the unforeseeable. The experience of a century does not suggest that they have been abused. (No, not even by Sir John Kerr—especially not by Kerr, but that is another argument.) Her Excellency wants the powers codified—that is, written down by lawyers. The task is impossible—a futility; the wit of man never has and never will be able to envisage and express every circumstance that life may throw up. The attempt was made some years ago by an unwise attorney-general, who gave it away as a bad job. Even if some sort of a codification could be botched up, problems of interpretation would still arise; acts of parliament are all written down, but does that stop endless litigation about what they actually mean? We don’t need codification; we need a wise governor-general.

The other explosive device planted under the Constitution is that codification would require a referendum to put it into effect. The bizarre result would be that a governor-general, sworn to uphold the Constitution, promoted inevitable civic division among the people, with herself an acknowledged barracker for one side. Referenda can be bruising. One would hate to see eggs thrown at our present prime minister, as so famously happened to his predecessor Billy Hughes during a referendum campaign.

Hasluck’s mind turned upon learning, lucidity and integrity, and into this slim pamphlet he has packed a total handbook for the proper conduct of the Australian governor-generalship. Few “blunders” can occur if its clear precepts are observed:

“[The governor-general] requires qualities that would enable him to consider wisely advice given to him, rather than to try to tell others what to do … He has to be free of partisanship. He cannot start promoting particular causes, for his dominant role is as one who uses his influence to ensure that there is care and deliberation, a close regard both for the requirements of the law and the conventions of the Constitution and for the continuing interests of the whole nation, and that the government which the Australian people choose should be a stable government acting consistently and responsibly.”

Let us hope that our twenty-fifth governor-general will take Hasluck to heart, and that she does not envisage for herself a showy reign studded with “firsts”, achievements of “goals” and crossings of “watersheds”. The true criterion of a successful term will be her retirement amid general public respect and affection: scores of parades smartly reviewed; a proper quantum of champagne bottles shattered across the bows of new naval launchings; parliaments opened as required; many fetes opened and prizes presented and numberless useful voluntary organisations duly patronised. All that will be sufficient. Exercises in statecraft and haute politique (if any) will remain locked for ever in her private conversations with the prime minister, or in the confidences of the Executive Council.

Let us hope that, above all, nothing happens which could make her term “historic”. Let her re-read her Gibbon, on the blessings of the reign of the Emperor Antoninus Pius, which furnishes “very few materials for history [which is] little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind”.