“I would say something and there would be silence,then they’d move on,” she said of cabinet meetings. “And then somebody else would say precisely what I’d said,precisely what I’d said,and the guys would go ‘good one,yep,we’ll have one of those,terrific idea’ and I’d think,did they not hear me?”
This post-politics real-talk was a direct contradiction of what Bishop said while in government,particularly when defending Abbott against accusations of sexism– accusations that came often,and with solid foundation.
“Believe me,I’ve worked in some sexist environments and this[government] is not one of them,” she said in 2014,when Abbott was filmed winking saucily at a radio host as a female sex worker called through on the talkback line.
A small selection of the language deployed by our parliamentarians against each other in the docuseries includes:“turd” (about Turnbull),“smug” and “arrogant arsehole” (about Morrison) “thug” (referring to current Opposition Leader Peter Dutton) and “dangerous” (about Abbott).
Abbott tells Turnbull to “f--- off” and sasses Turnbull for “interrupting” his prime ministership. Wannabe political assassins gather their crews together and crash parliamentary committee meetings. Morrison’s homies (the numbers-men he insists he was not directing in any way) hunch together in a sort of parliamentary cubby house to plot Morrison’s ascendance. They call it the Monkey Pod Room,as though living an Enid Blyton fantasy. How delicious to be in a club,and to be the ones who decide who else is in the club! Only Timmy the dog is missing.
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They scribbled down names and used an overhead projector to lend a measure of (’90s-era) professionalism to their manoeuvres.
The whole show is a reminder of how politicians reserve their most bitter enmities for the people on their own side,and how the safest friendships in parliament are often between people on opposite sides of the political spectrum.
This plays out beautifully in a brief scene where the then-Liberal member for Bennelong,John Alexander,a former professional tennis player,decides to use the extra time he has on his hands during the coup week to have a hit at the Parliament House courts. He invites someone he actually likes to play with him – then-opposition infrastructure minister Anthony Albanese.
Albanese seemingly has time to kill too,having been relegated by his own political nemesis,then-opposition leader Bill Shorten.
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Obviously,the matters dealt with in the show are a condensation of the conflict-riven periods of nearly a decade in politics. The more mundane aspects of governing – attending meetings,late nights reading briefs,revising draft documents and negotiating legislation – are not featured.
But watching the show,it was hard to escape the conclusion that not a lot of work was being done during this time,if you define “work” as “activities in the service of your employer – the taxpayer”.
Nemesis is also a sorry reminder of the terrible secret of adulthood:no one really knows what they’re doing,and incompetence is the human default.
All these intelligent,ambitious and hard-working men elevated to high office,only to turn their attentions on each other,at the expense of turning their attentions to us,the Australian citizenry.
Jacqueline Maley is a senior writer and columnist.
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