In the 1990s, a trend took hold among evangelical Christians – wristbands with the letters “WWJD”.
“What Would Jesus Do?”
Anthony Albanese, looking fit and focused, is out flogging Labor’s election slogan: “Building Australia’s Future.”
He’s trying his hardest. He gestures with his hands to accentuate each of the three words as if reminding himself of their proper order, and looks boyishly pleased when he lands them.
To watch him is to be reminded of an awkward – even fundamental – truth.
Our national leader, the hope of the Labor side, couldn’t sell a schooner to a shearer.
Indeed, in his near 30 years in parliament, he has not successfully prosecuted a single significant reform. Too harsh? Name one.
His great offering – the Indigenous voice to parliament – went backwards the longer he campaigned for it.
Complaining the idea was doomed as soon as it was opposed tends to reinforce the point.
His most memorable oratory contained the lines “I like fighting Tories. That’s what I do.” He had backed Kevin Rudd against Julia Gillard in his failed 2012 challenge. It was a powerful speech, compelling. It came with passion and tears. But its focus was on Labor party internals, its primary audience his caucus colleagues not the Australian population.
How can a man with what the Americans call “the bully pulpit” – the unique power to shape a national discussion – be so inept at doing it?
More importantly, with weeks left before an election is called, what can he do about it?
This is where he needs his own wristband: “WWXD”.
What would Xenophon do.
Nick Xenophon rose from nowhere, a simple, solid citizen dismayed by the growth of pokie machines, who decided to run as an independent for the South Australian upper house.
By 2013, having ridden his own wave to Canberra, he attracted a higher Senate primary vote in SA than the Labor party. He had no party structure to speak of, yet by the time he left national politics in 2017 he finished with three Senate seats and one in the House of Representatives, this last an achievement that eluded the Australian Democrats.
Sure he did stunts.
But his other skill deserves Albanese’s attention.
Xenophon taught himself to express, in simple language and very few words, the core of almost every issue. Even when he was almost irrelevant to the political process, he disproportionately fed news bulletins and the public debate.
“Sometimes it came off the top of my head,” Xenophon reflects now. More often, it was hard work, honing a discipline.
“I would sit in my office thinking, ‘how do I get my message across?’ I would only get six to eight seconds. How do I get people thinking?”
There is no evidence that Albanese has ever nailed that skill or perhaps even thought it worth pursuing.
Two weeks before Christmas the PM stood alongside the Papua New Guinea leader, James Marape, and Rugby League boss Peter V’landys to announce the entry of a PNG team to the NRL. It was a “vision piece”, explicitly tied to tighter security arrangements with PNG and a constraint on China’s ambitions in our closest neighbour.
Marape was eloquent in his praise for Albanese, as was V’landys. Albanese waffled. In a 40-minute news conference there was barely a useable grab.
This is not an argument for better spin. It is an argument for clarity.
To quote an earlier Xenophon, the fourth century BC soldier/philosopher Xenophon of Athens: “Brevity is the soul of command.”
Sharp, simple lines work proactively – witness the wily “relaxed and comfortable” promise held out by John Howard in 1996. They work just as well defensively.
When Andrew Peacock unveiled his 1990 campaign slogan, “The Answer is Liberal”, Bob Hawke retorted, “It must have been a bloody stupid question.” The slogan died that instant.
Xenophon grew to disproportionate influence because he bothered to learn how to nail a line.
“We know [Albanese] is not a bad bloke, he’s a decent bloke,” Xenophon says. “But people just feel completely underwhelmed. It’s almost as if he’s determined not to leave a legacy.”
When the prime minister lists Labor’s achievements, there is a disconnect. He speaks of childcare, broader-based tax cuts, cheaper medicines, help with power bills. He rarely, if ever, speaks about people.
He doesn’t say ‘“because of choices we’ve made people have cheaper medicines, more people have access to childcare, more people have tax relief”.
For those listening, it is as if the policy is the end point, not the people.
Xenophon’s advice?
“Wherever your backbone has gone, just find it. Replace the shiver with a real spine.”
Bang.
Hugh Riminton is national affairs editor at Channel 10
