CHAPTER TWO

DAY TWO – FRIDAY

The opposition leadership group agreed to convene urgently to discuss strategy for the unanticipated federal election at its party headquarters in Melbourne. Delays with Barton Messenger’s early commuter flight from Canberra persuaded him to go straight to the meeting, rather than change and refresh at home in Williamstown, a coastal community twenty minutes by train from the CBD.

It was an opportunity for a latte at his favourite city cafe in Bourke Street, just around the corner from the Exhibition Street headquarters. A longtime coffee snob, Barton was looking forward to resuming his love of good coffee missing in most other cities, even more so in Parliament House in Canberra.

Settling at a footpath table, reviewing the lead stories of the national newspaper about the chaos and crisis in Canberra, a latte arrived and the warming sun began to filter through the trees. It was his favourite time of day to enjoy a good coffee. As he took his first sip, Messenger’s phone pinged a message.

Thanks for last night, it was great spending time with u.
Let’s do more of it once the campaign is over

Messenger grinned and quickly tapped a response on the screen.

Looking forward to seeing more of you hopefully before Xmas.
If you need to know anything about the campaign be sure NOT to call me.

Messenger smiled as he dropped his phone back into his jacket. He trusted his attempt at humour was a subtle reminder to Anita about the restrictions his role as deputy leader might bring during the campaign. Anita had agreed over dinner that communication between them should be scant, and if they had time for a social catch-up, they both agreed not to talk politics. Barton welcomed Anita’s ethics, and didn’t want to compromise their budding friendship by denying her the opportunity of doing her job. It could also very well mean negative press for him.

Messenger settled back into his newspaper, flicking it open, then reading the coverage of the prorogued parliament. He tried to steer clear of articles about himself but couldn’t help reading the editorial that supported his promotion to deputy leader, encouraging the party to further promote younger MPs and clear out the stodgy frontbench. Its coverage of the parliamentary crisis was extensive, highlighting the resignation of the speaker that led the parliament to abruptly prorogue and force the nation to an unexpected federal election.

Prime Minister Gerrard was plastered across the front page with menacing headlines that promised political retribution to those who caused the crisis. His fierce look, snapped by a parliamentary photographer as he brushed past the media, would drive fear into anyone with him and his statement made a veiled threat to the governor-general. He claimed she failed to act on his advice, which constitutionally she was required to do.

Gerrard didn’t hold back his vitriol, vilifying parliamentary officers, including the Chief Justice, promising there would be changes when he was re-elected. A small assortment of brave commentators implied this crisis may be the end of the Gerrard era, suggesting it was time for the electorate to make a change to the leadership of the country.

Messenger’s favourite section of the paper was always the cartoon, which today had Gerrard lounging like an opulent Greek senator from long ago asking, ‘What is democracy? Freedom to elect your own dictator.’ This brought him a small chuckle. As he sipped his coffee, his phone rang displaying a number he didn’t recognise.

‘Hello, Barton Messenger.’

‘Barton, it’s Jaya Rukhmani.’

Barton crushed his newspaper closed and sat straighter. ‘Hello Professor, how are you?’

‘I’m terrific. Very enthusiastic about the events in Canberra yesterday. You must be very proud of your election as deputy leader?’

‘It’s an honour, and to tell you the truth, totally unexpected. I didn’t go to Canberra this week thinking I would be voted as deputy opposition leader, that’s for sure. But I’ll take it.’ Messenger scoffed as a tram trundled loudly past and he placed a finger in his other ear.

‘Who would have thought a scholar of mine could possibly be prime minister?’

‘Not there yet, Professor, and I doubt I’ll get the nod for the top job any time soon.’

‘Oh Bart, you’ve always shown potential and you have the ability, it’s just a matter of time now.’ The professor sounded authentic with her praise. ‘Perhaps you should think about getting married, we like our prime ministers tall and good looking – and married.’

‘I probably would be elected prime minister before ever getting married. At this time in my life, at least.’

‘What’s wrong with you? You’re handsome and young, there should be girls falling all over you. I’d even put my hand up for that enjoyable task,’ Rukhmani joked.

‘Hmm, well the idea of marital bliss is not on my radar at the moment.’ Barton was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the conversation. ‘What can I put the pleasure of this call down to, would you like me to speak at the university again?’

‘Hey, that would be great if you could, especially if you win government.’ Messenger immediately regretted making the quip, remembering the last time he visited the campus was fraught with student dissidence during his speech. ‘Actually, I wanted your advice – and perhaps a little help.’

‘Happy to, what are you seeking?’

‘I want to run at the federal election.’ Messenger didn’t respond, screwed his face and gazed at his paper. ‘Are you there?’

‘Yes, I’m still here,’ Messenger dithered a little. ‘Can I ask which party?’

‘Yours, of course,’ Rukhmani clarified, a little irritated with her former student’s indifferent response. ‘My colleagues think it would be a terrific case study about the many challenges running an election campaign. It could possibly allow us to develop a teaching unit in the politics program on applied campaign techniques, which we would hope to offer from second semester next year.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ Messenger replied cagily, engaging the benign political speak he, like most politicians, was skilled at. ‘Do you know which seat you might stand for?’

‘We want to challenge Gerrard.’

Messenger pursed his lips and breathed out slowly, thinking through the information. It might be a proposition worthy of further discussion. ‘He normally stands without many candidates running against him. I think his primary vote is something ridiculous like seventy-two per cent. We have a hell of a time trying to convince anyone to stand against him, and more often than not, we don’t spend any money on campaign materials. We haven’t stood a candidate for the last two elections. Why Melbourne?’

‘A number of reasons. We think it would be a great experience because of the small number of independents. Plus, we think national exposure might create interest for our project, and we could get media footage to use in the unit. Of course, the university is in the electorate too.’

‘Who is we?’

‘A number of post-grad students and a couple of tutors from the university.’

‘Are you serious about this?’ Barton looked about him. ‘I mean, it would require an enormous effort. You’ll need plenty of people – and money.’

‘People won’t be a problem. We’ll call upon our alumni students and their networks. The money could be problematic, but we’re thinking of using crowdfunding websites.’

‘Will they let you do that?’

‘Not sure, but if we can and we do it well, it may resolve this ongoing issue about fraudulent campaign donors. In any event, it will allow us to include possible funding alternatives in the unit we are hoping to design. We really need to start addressing the many allegations of political favours being given for campaign donations that so many politicians are accused of. You haven’t been accused, have you?’

‘I had some trouble when I first started out with a property developer wanting to donate to my campaign, but we sent his money back. He then unscrupulously got it to us via another company, which our accounting missed. Caused a bit of pain for me that did.’

‘What happened?’

‘I was forced to provide an explanation to the federal police. Nothing came of it, but the media hounded me for months and they still raise it occasionally.’

‘What happened to the money?’

‘I donated all of it to charity under the moron’s name.’

‘I suppose what we can learn from your experience is that we need to be careful to weed out those who may want to manipulate us.’

‘Exactly, and if you do, you will be a rare political candidate,’ said Messenger as he lifted his coffee, pausing before sipping. ‘Tell me, why do you want to run against Gerrard?’

‘I suppose if I genuinely think about it and consider the true reasons, then I would have to concede it’s about profile. Gerrard will bring us profile, and with that we will generate more media material to use. If we impact Gerrard’s margin in some small way, that would be a huge plus for the development of the unit.’

‘So why not run as an independent?’

‘We want to include the preselection process in the study and the campaign structures of a major party. We think there are some valid ethical and moral constructs about the distribution of power within politics, especially the major parties, and we want to take a look at it.’

‘I’m not sure how the party will react to your application.’

‘Am I not qualified? I have been a citizen for almost twenty years now.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ Messenger hesitated, gnawing at his bottom lip.

‘Please tell me it’s not because I’m a woman?’

‘You know our party prefers to promote good women, and you are definitely one of them.’

‘And yet you have none in your leadership team?’

Messenger squirmed a little at the retort. ‘Not for lack of trying, I can tell you.’

‘Yes, I know your position, Bart, so why are you hesitant?’

‘We’ve never preselected an Indian migrant for a federal seat before.’

‘Your party has had plenty of mixed Asian diaspora elected to various parliaments and you’ve had candidates with Indian backgrounds in state elections.’ Rukhmani lowered her tone, ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

Messenger hesitated a little. ‘Frankly, I’m concerned about the media and how they will treat you, and how the electorate will respond …’

‘To a woman of colour?’

‘No,’ Messenger protested. ‘That’s not it. I mean to a woman with your background. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m only thinking about the consequences should there be a red-neck campaign against you. You must know Twitter haters will go crazy.’

‘That is precisely one of the reasons why we want to stand for this election. We want to expose any unethical bullying we may encounter and show how social messages can be misused and manipulated, for example by trolls on Twitter.’ Rukhmani was suddenly upbeat. ‘This is what I actually love about politics. Democracy is hard work and we have to fight to keep it. And we have to fight for ethical and moral equality.’

‘I have to say, you’re a brave woman, Jaya.’

‘Rubbish, Barton, this isn’t about me. It’s about our political system and how the community must actively stop post-truth theory overrunning us. We need to constrain the power of propaganda from populist leaders like Gerrard.’

‘I can’t promise anything but let me talk to a few contacts and I’ll get back to you.’

‘Today?’

‘I’m scheduled for a campaign strategy meeting shortly,’ Messenger checked his watch. ‘It should take a few hours, but maybe I can get back to you before the end of the day?’

‘This is why you will be a great prime minister, Barton.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re unafraid to make a promise, which I’m confident you will no doubt keep.’

‘I had a good teacher, Professor. Talk to you later. This is good news, very exciting.’

‘Thanks, Bart, chat soon.’

Messenger was somewhat taken aback by the call and slowly placed his phone on the table, thinking how best to manage the request. The professor would be a terrific candidate for the party, and frankly would be well suited to a safe seat, but to throw her to the political wolves against Gerrard could be a challenge for his party, and indeed, the electorate of Melbourne.

He wondered why he remained overly concerned about a potential backlash against her. Was it a fear for her safety, as he had suggested, or did he harbour a subtle bias against her? The thought troubled him. And if it transpired there was no backlash against her, what did that say about his relationship with multiculturalism? If he earnestly believed in equality of diversity, why was he hesitant to endorse her candidacy? Perhaps he wasn’t a strong believer in cultural tolerance after all.

Messenger folded his paper, collected his leather satchel, paid the bill and walked quickly to Exhibition Street, the centre of state government offices. He waited for the green walk sign before crossing Bourke Street toward the location of the federal opposition’s Victorian headquarters, now likely to be the base for the national campaign.

The meeting rooms were on the fifth floor. He swiped his security pass to gain access to the boardroom, dimly lit like a military bunker complete with projector, whiteboard, and flip charts at the ready to flesh out campaign strategy. A solitary colleague waited in the gloom, working his smartphone.

‘Hi Jim, when did you get in?’ Messenger was surprised to see him.

‘Morning Bart,’ Harper slipped his phone into his jacket. ‘I came down last night for a meeting and thought I would stay.’

‘Did the leader ask you to come along?’

James Harper didn’t seem too pleased with the challenge. ‘You might recall I was the leader just two days ago.’

Messenger sat opposite and considered his colleague. ‘I’m not sure the leadership team would appreciate you being here today – the optics wouldn’t be good.’

‘Like the optics when I was dumped on Wednesday night, you mean?’

Messenger grimaced. ‘Jim, that was an unfortunate political decision made by you to move to a vote. You were warned not to do it; you can’t blame anyone else for what happened.’

‘You certainly didn’t help with your shenanigans during question time,’ jibed Harper.

‘We needed to chase down Gerrard and defer the funding for the immigration centre. You were blocking us.’

‘Bart, I was set up by Gerrard to comply in the parliament, you know that.’ Harper said it matter-of-factly, confidently leaning back in his chair. ‘What happened in the party room subsequently shouldn’t disqualify me from strategically assisting in the campaign. I was leader for eight years, for heaven’s sake.’

‘It’s an opportunity for change.’

‘What’s going to change? My policies? My work in getting us into a winning position? None of that will change. Do I get to keep any of my legacy?’

‘Jim, it’s not about shunning you, it’s the optics of having the former leader driving party strategy. In other words, are the punters voting for Stanley, or Harper?’

‘Stop with the fucking optics, will you please,’ Harper barked, sitting forward.

‘We have promised you a ministry if we win.’

‘So fucking what?’

‘We just need clear air around the new leadership group so we can provide a positive message. You must know that?’

‘I’ve had enough of this babble.’ Harper abruptly jumped up and moved to the door. ‘I’ll have a chat to Peter and see what he has to say.’

‘Jim, it’s for the best. You’ll see.’ Messenger attempted to placate Harper as he left the room, but he was already gone.

At that moment, Christopher Hughes strolled through another door. Messenger repositioned himself to where Harper had been sitting, by the leader’s assigned chair.

‘That was truly bizarre.’

‘What was?’ asked Hughes as he pulled a chair from the table opposite.

‘Jim was just here expecting to be on the campaign strategy team, suggesting that as former leader he should be.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him to expect a ministry if we win, but to leave the campaign to the current leadership group.’

‘Good lad,’ said Hughes, the Shadow Minister for Industry and Member for Warringah in Sydney. ‘Strategically it’s for the best, and he can play a low profile in his electorate. We don’t want Gerrard playing the leadership instability card during the campaign.’

Messenger smiled and cited a previous campaign slogan: ‘If you can’t run your party, how do you expect to run the country?’

‘Exactly. The perfect cliché – I knew you would have one.’ Hughes moved to the sideboard to pour a coffee. ‘Would you like a cup?’

‘No thanks, I don’t drink that muck.’

‘Coffee snobs you folk in Melbourne, aren’t you?’

‘Well, when you have the best baristas in the most livable city in the world then you tend to steer clear of the instant and percolated muck.’

‘Who else is coming this morning, do you know?’

‘Harry is down from the Federal Secretariat. The polling guru, Andres, will no doubt be coming.’ Messenger laughed at the thought. ‘I’ve asked Julia Laretsky from the women’s division and sequestered Sussan Neilson from Pete’s office to handle comms.’

‘So just six of us?’

‘Seven if you count the leader.’ Messenger waved an acknowledgement as Laretsky entered the room. ‘I don’t see any need to have it any bigger, unless you think we should have a representative from each state. If we did want a national structure then there would be no reason not to have Jim on the team, given he is our best man in Queensland.’

‘What, you don’t think Tilley is capable?’

‘Of course, he is – at a rodeo,’ laughed Messenger. ‘Hello Julia, thanks for coming.’

‘Hi Bart, Chris. Nice day for it.’ Laretsky pulled files from her oversized soft leather rose-pink bag and took a place at the table. ‘You guys must have had some fun over the last few days.’

‘Not much fun dumping a leader, I’m afraid, Jules, but enormous gratification having Gerrard sacked by the parliament and seeing his reaction. We just have to win now,’ replied Messenger.

‘This is our best opportunity for snatching power from Gerrard, and those unfortunate deaths last week makes it game on as far as I’m concerned,’ Laretsky said as she flicked through her paperwork.

‘Yes indeed, truly unfortunate for the families and a great tragedy for the parliament. I suppose Andres will apprise us if we benefit from it.’

‘Andres can tell you what?’ The pollster had just walked into the room, dumped his computer and thick folders at the end of the table and walked to the coffee station.

‘We were just talking about the death of our colleagues in the plane crash,’ Hughes said as he checked his phone.

‘I’ll wait until we get into the meeting, but I can tell you there is good news. Is there anything to eat other than these crappy biscuits?’

‘Good news about people dying?’ Messenger queried, looking askew at Hughes.

‘The king is dead, long live the king,’ Hughes glumly offered in response.

‘And so, the political caravan moves on,’ Messenger cynically added.

‘Right let’s get on with it.’ The charismatic voice of Peter Stanley silenced everyone as he strode in with Harry Lester and Sussan Neilson trailing behind. ‘We have an election to win.’