Locked up in Canberra
Every year, journalists and editors descend on Parliament House to participate in the political theatre that is federal budget night. This year Crikey sent along political editor Bernard Keane, federal political reporter Anton Nilsson and deputy editor Jack Callil. Below is Jack’s dispatch, filed ahead of the 1.30pm lock-up.
A smug aura hangs like a halo as we pass through security to collect our laminated visitor passes, ready to be locked up together for six interminable hours with no phones, wi-fi or much air ventilation — and with terrible snacks to boot.
Budget day is usually experienced in one of two ways. For the newbies, it’s a whirlwind safari of political sightings (“Barnaby Joyce accidentally elbowed me in a hallway!”); for the veterans, it’s all a bit humdrum. But like clockwork, each budget delivers an array of shambles, logistical headaches and satisfying curios that readers never hear of.
A few from this year’s indulgent political fête so far: Crikey’s budget began with all the tranquillity of a car backfiring, having discovered at 5pm yesterday that our hotel had somehow cancelled our booking, igniting a flurry of panicked messages and jokes about having to sleep Barnaby-style on a Braddon walkway.
Luckily we found another reservation, where this morning, bleary-eyed from an early rise, we scarfed down a nutrient-rich lobby breakfast (hash browns, stale bread, coffee). We then rushed into an Uber, noting as we did UAP Senator Ralph Babet sliding into a car in front of us. Following him the entire way to Parliament House, we quipped we should hold a microphone out the window to ask him about chemtrails.
Once inside Parliament — its uninspiring spire looming like hastily fastened yurt poles — we aim for one of the building’s cafeterias, passing on the way the infamous budget tree, which this year looks a bit limp and defeated, as well as the tiny locked office of Daily Mail Australia. A reporter says it is “almost definitely a refurbished toilet cubicle” (we offer no evidence to corroborate this). Down a hallway, independent MP Zali Steggall and a small entourage brush past, as does Liberal Senator Dave Sharma looking as if he left the oven on at home.
Once we arrive in the downstairs food hall, politicians, editors and reporters mingle as if at a high school formal. Our political reporter Anton mentions news.com.au’s political editor Samantha Maiden once told him this venue was the best one for eavesdropping, before darting off to chinwag with former Nationals leader Michael McCormack. I’m left alone at a table, realising I’ve amassed before me an embarrassing collection of drinks (a lukewarm coffee, a can of Coke and a bottle of water). Sipping from each in turn, I watch as Senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price suddenly cuts through the tables looking like she’s about to strangle someone.
We’re now upstairs, stuffed inside our tiny shared office, wondering where Bernard is (he likes to turn up at 1pm, 30 minutes before lock-up). As I rush to finish this tip, Maiden pokes her head in: “No Gina?” she asks, looking genuinely dejected. (Gina is Crikey’s editor, sadly cooped up in Sydney this year.) “That’s a shame,” she says, before ducking off.
“Happy budget!”
Frolicking in the leaves
Who among us hasn’t wanted to frolic in the brilliant red leaves of a maple tree as autumn rolls in?
Crikey can hardly blame Treasurer Jim Chalmers for taking a brief moment out of what is presumably the busiest time of year for the nation’s bean-counter-in-chief — the lead-up to the federal budget — to play among the leaves of Parliament’s famous Acer rubrum.
It’s the latest addition to a long line of budget-related photoshoots heading into a new financial year — who could forget Josh Frydenberg’s “Back in Black” mugs, or Joe Hockey’s thousand-yard stare?
Chalmers’ office would not comment on record as to whether it was their idea to play in the leaves or not.
Seven holds itself accountable
Seven has been in the wars lately, with Crikey reporting on its latest feud with Nine newspapers over the print edition of The Australian Financial Review. This week, ABC’s Media Watch claimed in a segment titled “Sunrise vax scare” that Seven’s flagship breakfast show had amplified COVID-19 alarmism in its reporting on the withdrawal of the AstraZeneca vaccine from sale.
Consumers wanting to complain about media coverage, particularly about problematic reporting in relation to COVID-19 misinformation, would be forgiven for thinking that one of the biggest media companies in the country was answerable to the Press Council of Australia. So did we — until a tipster brought to our attention this week that Seven is in fact not a member of the Press Council.
So where do you go if you have a problem with Seven’s reporting?
The answer is the Independent Media Council (IMC), formed in 2012 with a similar purpose to the Press Council. The IMC, composed of two former WA attorneys-general and a retired judge of the WA Supreme Court, oversees 29 member publications with one thing in common: they’re all owned by Seven West Media.
So much for being judged by a jury of your peers.
