The problem with lies is that, even when they work, they become a prison for the liar, a fiction that must be maintained forever lest the victims of their deception learn they’ve been lied to.
And on March 14 2020, Scott Morrison began building his prison of fiction when he decided to deceive voters about his multiple ministries scheme.
He could have chosen that day to explain the idea, to tell voters that out of an abundance of caution and as insurance against the unpredictable risks of a global pandemic, he had decided to share the extraordinary powers the health minister had in the face of a health crisis.
There would have been criticism and mockery, for sure, but at least it was an arguable case and many would have supported him — it was a moment of global crisis and we all feared the worst. What’s wrong with insurance?
Instead, he chose secrecy and deception. Only health minister Greg Hunt, attorney-general Christian Porter, Governor-General David Hurley and Phil Gaetjens in Prime Minister and Cabinet, which provides the Executive Council secretariat, would know. The normal gazettal of Morrison’s appointments was stopped. None were permitted to speak out without his approval, or they would lose their jobs.
Why? Most likely because Morrison went with his instincts. His instincts are to deceive and to obscure. The man who went after Michael Towke who had soundly beaten him in the Cook preselection. The man who invented the absurd fiction of “on-water matters” (and then broke it when expedient). The man who told falsehoods about the murder of Reza Barati and the actions of Save The Children staff on Nauru. The man who, as prime minister, was compiling an astonishing list of blatant lies.
Then the idea, plausible in theory but deeply flawed in practice, metastasised. Two weeks later, on March 30 2020, Morrison decided to do the same with Mathias Cormann’s Finance ministry. Those who’ve read Malcolm Turnbull’s memoir will know exactly the contempt in which Cormann holds Morrison from the latter’s stint as Turnbull’s treasurer.
This was Morrison’s last chance to be honest with the public — he could at that point have chosen to announce that over the past fortnight he had had himself sworn in as minister for health and for finance as an insurance policy. It would have been fine.
But this is where it gets ugly. He chose, once again, to go with his instincts and deceive voters. No one was to know about it. But worse, Cormann didn’t know either.
From that point, Morrison’s guilty secret of multiple ministries carried with it not merely political risk with voters, but risk within cabinet and the party. What would happen if Cormann found out? Morrison may have reasoned that the veteran finance minister was intending to leave politics anyway and wouldn’t be overly fussed. But at that point, the door to his prison cell was locked tight on him. No one could know.
The risk would have perhaps been smaller if it had been confined to two ministries. But in April last year he decided to repeat the trick. This time it had nothing to do with the pandemic and everything to do with politics: embroiled in a dispute with ardent fossil fuel fan Keith Pitt over the PEP-11 gas project off Sydney, instead of using his authority as prime minister in cabinet to bring Pitt into line, or simply sacking Pitt, he chose to become Pitt by taking his ministry.
Again without telling the incumbent. Again without voters or Parliament. Always the lie.
Having discovered this new toy, it seems Morrison had become enamoured of it, and saw it as an excellent solution to a growing set of problems. But each time he was increasing the risk and consequences of discovery. Each time he made his prison ever more escape-proof.
Then on May 6 last year, for reasons not at all clear, he decided to do it again. This time, his victims were Home Affairs minister Karen Andrews and his own treasurer, Josh Frydenberg — mere days before Frydenberg was to unveil the 2021-22 budget. Somewhere along the way, he has also appeared to pick up some of the ministerial role of Social Services minister Anne Ruston.
His treatment of Frydenberg was extraordinary: this was a man who — with deep foolishness, in retrospect — had been and continued to be completely loyal to him. Morrison repaid that loyalty with a profound and unique betrayal. But by this stage Morrison seems to have been addicted to his new plaything of power, perhaps enjoying the excitement of the power that he wielded beyond the office of prime minister, maybe even enjoying the adulterer’s thrill of getting away with it, the pleasure of a successful lie.
And the falsehoods continue. Yesterday, asked whether he had been sworn in to any other ministries than Health, Finance and Industry, he told his interlocutor that he didn’t recall.
“Didn’t recall.” As if you might forget making yourself treasurer and minister for Home Affairs. It’s a ridiculous claim.
Morrison seems addicted to lies and falsehoods, something Crikey first called him out on last year and which most of the press gallery only belatedly worked out. But we’ll never know why. Maybe Morrison himself doesn’t know. It’s clear from his actions that there was something very strange going on in the head of the man who led the country for three-and-a-half unfortunate years.
Is it possible even Scott Morrison doesn’t understand why he lies and deceives? 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.
