The 50th anniversary of The Dismissal is an apposite moment to look again at Malcolm Fraser as the main beneficiary of it. Dr Lee Duffield reminisces on the character of the man who was at the centre of that conflict over democratic principles.
(This is the first in a series of two articles.)
MALCOLM FRASER, the conservative hero of 1975, but also reviled across Australia, followed the Establishment practice of repairing and bolstering one’s reputation to die as at least a respected figure.
How respectable was his conduct and character?
What did he know on 11 November 1975?
The record, his record, shows that on 11 November 1975, Fraser was called to see the Governor General, Sir John Kerr, who commissioned him as Prime Minister.
Being in the thick of it all, he could not have escaped knowing, though possibly not wholly in the know, the way Kerr was intent on managing matters.
The day itself was torrid. For weeks, we had heard the parliament in uproar, the National Country Party Leader, Doug Anthony, suddenly out of character, leading the random shouting and abuse across the chamber. Ending an early morning radio shift, I exited home to monitor events by radio, though content when immediately called back to handle a deluge of overnight news on the still-evolving impacts of the dismissal.
As Opposition Leader, Malcolm Fraser had created the political crisis by holding up the passing of money bills in the Senate – denying funding to the Gough Whitlam Labor Government. He gave off some rhetoric for justification: the Government was incompetent and he would shut it down finally if it committed “reprehensible” actions.
It is known, thanks especially to the research done by Professor Jennifer Hocking, that Kerr had been discussing his powers to act against Whitlam with Prince Charles, now the King, conversations likely to have been mentioned to the then sovereign, Elizabeth II. Kerr much wanted to be a loyal royalist and the Government had republican sentiments.
The American intelligence community had become hostile to Whitlam over his independent foreign policy and evident intentions to remove, or get more control over sensitive U.S. bases in Australia. It needs still more telling, how much chat went on among those Americans, Kerr, certain lawyers or jurists and Fraser, he as the long-time front-bench Liberal, former Defence Minister and king maker who, if the Labor Government was removed, would have to agree to take over.
“Kerr’s curr?” — taking the bait on 11 November 1975
There’s the rub.
Fraser was reviled, in Whitlam’s phrase, as “Kerr’s Curr”, because he took the bait.
- He joined with Kerr in dumping outright the democratic convention, that the party leader with a majority in the House of Representatives becomes Prime Minister.
- It struck at democracy where governments elected for a term and sustaining such a majority are entitled to complete their term.
- It struck at democracy where the unelected representative of a foreign head of state could cut off a government legitimised by having been elected.
As events would show, the realisation dawned on Fraser quickly, with a shock, that he had jumped off the Patna.
Joseph Conrad’s famous character Lord Jim, a ship’s officer with no particular blemishes, made a life-changing error: under pressure, he jumped off a sinking ship full of passengers. After that, he carried the stain of weakness and treachery that would not wash off, privately looked down on by right-thinking people, even his own kind — and felt it.
How they worked it on the day was that Kerr got Fraser to park his car around the back of his official residence, while he received Whitlam at the front, dismissed him and then anointed Fraser in the job. Kerr had in secrecy prorogued Parliament, officially closing it down, foreseeing and nullifying a motion of confidence in the Labor leader that would be passed later in the day.
Born to rule?
Fraser, unlike his Vice Regal patron, was not fully kitted out mentally for the role of thief, marauder and opportunist.
It is unlikely that he would actually have spent time preparing Kerr, a lurching alcoholic, getting him drunk and putting him up to it. He was righteous and “entitled” enough in outlook that you might not put it past him, but more likely, on background and character, he was not hungry in quite that way — more one to let the “good” things come to him as a matter of right.
Malcolm Fraser was the stereotype wealthy grazier, from the squattocracy of a previous century, institutionalised and, to boot, intellectually ungifted, presenting as the classic overprivileged dolt.
Fraser had been sent to Oxford, where he graduated in the brief era of “repat” degrees, intended as a go card for brave and brilliant returned service personnel, to get on with their careers, but as a credential, unconvincing. Oxford by reputation would prefer to give nothing rather than award an ordinary Pass degree; the young Fraser was conceded Honours, third-class.
They put Fraser into the country seat of Wannon. He appeared in a newsreel on the property, arm-in-arm with his bride, Tammie, a well-to-do young couple of the early 1950s: she with a protective shawl, he the local squire in tweed, nonchalant, pipe clenched at a jaunty and confident angle.
In government, they found a seat for him at the decision-making table where he became, like his Country Party friend Doug Anthony, one of the “old young men”, or “young old men” who took over from the Liberal Party founder Sir Robert Menzies.
They hoped to emulate the “great man”, meaning to stay in power above all, riding a wave of prosperity and handing out selected reforms to please or appease the voters.
The “Man from Easter Island”
Fraser had developed his distinctive style: cold, disdainful and aloof, as remote from others as Easter Island; cartoonists liked to set up his stony-faced image among the statues there.
He was one of those who hated the interregnum of the larrikin Liberal Prime Minister, John Gorton (1968-71). With the habit of years of back-room work, he would undermine “Jolly John”, pouncing when Gorton pulled out the civil aid operation from Vietnam, without consulting him as Defence Minister. Gorton was replaced in a party room showdown as Leader by Sir William McMahon, later by Fraser himself.
Also from experience, he could show a genial or “human” face, so long as he was in charge, on top, feet comfortable under the table.
As a television reporter, I had the job of following the Prime Ministers – Whitlam, then Fraser – on weekends around Sydney, where they disliked the media and did not want to do any serious media or government work. Whitlam turned up at community gatherings, said very little, dodged. Fraser, at least, might turn around to face you and return a question: “We’ll take it to cabinet on Tuesday”, on some issue, which would be new, a scrap to work on for weekend news.
Fraser liked to be magnanimous, as when with his wife he attended and opened the 1977 FESPIC Games, forerunner of the Asian Para Games. (A last encounter was in 1990 at Frankfurt, the former PM joining an international board formed by ANZ Bank; the distant figure was back, not even a crooked grin, no time for journalists, nothing to share.)
Well prepared for office through upbringing and background, providing a steady and inevitable rise, the “inevitable” instead came suddenly as an unexpected jolt. If Fraser had some ideas about trying to loosen up and adapt to change, all that might have to wait.
This is the first article in a two-part series; the second will focus on Fraser governing after The Dismissal.
Amongst Dr Lee Duffield’s vast journalistic experience, he has served as ABC's European correspondent. He is also an esteemed academic and member of the editorial advisory board of Pacific Journalism Review, and an elected member of the University of Queensland Senate.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License
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