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Australia Fair?: Democracy, bureaucracy and the making of modern Australia
Who advises politicians about the issues that impact our daily lives, and how has their advice changed over time?
In Australia Fair? authors James Walter and Carolyn Holbrook explore the world of departmental officials and political advisers who wield significant influence in shaping our society and assess how policy advice has changed since World War II. How has the relationship between our elected representatives and bureaucrats evolved? Have they delivered what the people want? What has been learned, and what forgotten?
Focusing on three foundational policy domains - immigration, Indigenous affairs and housing - Australia Fair? reveals how social change, ideological differences and power dynamics have transformed Australia's political landscape and society.
Provocative and important, Australia Fair? challenges us to reckon with a new era of policy innovation, to debate how we want to be governed and to choose what kind of society we want to be.
In Australia Fair? authors James Walter and Carolyn Holbrook explore the world of departmental officials and political advisers who wield significant influence in shaping our society and assess how policy advice has changed since World War II. How has the relationship between our elected representatives and bureaucrats evolved? Have they delivered what the people want? What has been learned, and what forgotten?
Focusing on three foundational policy domains - immigration, Indigenous affairs and housing - Australia Fair? reveals how social change, ideological differences and power dynamics have transformed Australia's political landscape and society.
Provocative and important, Australia Fair? challenges us to reckon with a new era of policy innovation, to debate how we want to be governed and to choose what kind of society we want to be.
- GenresPolitics
593 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 14, 2026
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August 17, 2026
Australia is a liberal-democratic nation with colonial characteristics. These philosophies underscored state formation, whereby colonies established institutions for individual prosperity, which, in turn, underpinned the state’s adaptation to recognise certain democratic and liberal rights while also maintaining a community expectation of state intervention. Australia gradually reflected Max Weber’s argument that “bureaucracy was inevitable as the rational and efficient means of managing complex organisations in modern society”.
Government: some people want it big; some people want it small. Either way, a government’s purpose is to implement policy, ideas for how societal interactions, in whole or in part, should be governed. Though normative, policy is “constrained in two ways: by political demand—what is pressing, community concerns, what do experts forecast, what does the government want, what methods is it willing to accept—and by history.” Postwar, Australian society was transformed through radical policy change. Today, however, we are in a “period of increasing policy turmoil.” Why?
To understand the present, James Walter and Carolyn Holbrook argue that one must look to the past. In Australia Fair? Democracy, Bureaucracy and the Making of Modern Australia, they take a historical-comparative approach to three highly contentious policy domains, immigration, Indigenous affairs, and housing, to understand the “behind-the-scenes network that feeds into policy decisions” during “historical moments of ideological delirium when received views lose traction, the problems this presents for those managing transition, and the seeds of innovation.”
This book is divided into four parts. The first three correspond to the chosen policy domains. The remainder of this review begins with the fourth part, where the authors posit a symbiotic formula for policy change, before showing how this affected housing and immigration policy. It then critiques some of the book’s conclusions before applying them to contemporary debates on Indigenous affairs. In short, Walter and Holbrook assert that policy reform is dependent on historical context, leadership, policy entrepreneurs, theorists, and facilitators.
There have been two broad economic paradigms in the postwar period: a mixed economy with Keynesian underpinnings, whose dominance was undermined by stagflation in the 1970s; and a non-interventionist, market-driven paradigm which remains. Such paradigms limited the options for policy reform, yet the extent of state intervention or retrenchment within each paradigm depended on the ideological leanings of the government of the day. Leadership, particularly inspirational leadership, at both the political and departmental levels, was integral to change.
Leaders are often policy entrepreneurs. They build networks and broadcast policy to bridge the “gap between the political and bureaucratic milieu and the people.” Some argue that persuading the people is not necessary, as they do not have sufficient grounding in policy intricacies, and that leaders can instead act decisively without public support when an opportunity arises. This reflects an elitist conception of policymaking. That said, policy leaders require theorists and facilitators, technocrats, public intellectuals, and advocates to develop policy frameworks and put their ideas into practice.
Postwar, Britain could not sustain large migration outflows, which Australia had relied upon for industrial expansion. Labour had to come from elsewhere, yet there were two constraints: retaining the White Australia policy, and maintaining advances in industrial relations. Prominent public servant H.C. Coombs proposed expanding migration eligibility to include Europeans, while placing obligations on assimilation and contributing to national development through government-directed employment. Strong policy entrepreneurship from the Chifley government was integral.
White Australia was gradually dismantled following increasing international backlash. But it was the arrival of Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s that proved the catalyst for reform. The Fraser Government developed a “sharper definition of refugees, treating them as a discrete element rather than just another migrant group” and enacted this policy through the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet. They restructured immigration administration to support civic nationalism, replacing assimilation with commitment to liberal-democratic values.
Migration rates expanded, yet illegal boat arrivals continued in the 1980s and 1990s. Senior bureaucrats in the DoI drafted changes to the Migration Act to strip judicial power over borders and retain this power for the executive through mandatory onshore detention. Keating made it law. During these deliberations, however, ideas germinated that would later become hallmarks of Australian policy: offshore detention and boat turn-backs. Though not adopted by Keating, as illegal boat arrivals continued, especially after 9/11, Howard implemented both.
Howard recognised that “there had to be a balance between the positive objectives of immigration and the need to efficiently manage unexpected arrivals...”. Yet it was a bureaucrat, Michael Pezzullo, who would transform the immigration department. Elevated by Julia Gillard, and then embraced by the Coalition, Pezzullo militarised border security, “underscoring the increasing harshness with which refugee applications were treated. It had profound effects on public discourse about immigration generally and boxed [the current Labor government] in.”
Immigration policy was therefore sustained through a reciprocal process in which:
Under Robert Menzies, Commonwealth housing policy shifted away from public provision and towards home ownership. It was up to “the individual to help himself.” This state of affairs lasted until Whitlam established the Department of Urban and Regional Development (DURD): “a bureaucratic juggernaut” including the nation’s best planners in housing. It chaired an inter-departmental committee, “but instead of DURD coordinating recalcitrant departments it became somewhere for the other departments to pick apart whatever DURD was trying to do.”
Fraser abolished DURD in late 1975. Whitlam observed: “The days of urban laissez-faire had returned,” with Fraser reducing “Federal Outlays on urban and regional development by 86 per cent.” Housing reform was briefly revived under Hawke and then Keating with the Building Better Cities program. Unlike DURD, it used market initiatives and focused on economic efficiency to achieve its ends. Like DURD, though, it needed maturation to achieve enduring influence, yet this did not happen after the change of government, with the authors asserting:
From these brief summaries, one can see the reciprocal nature of the various actors in policy transformation. The political context, whether political or economic crisis, a change in government, or both, opens the window for reform. Its success depends on the machinery of government and the interaction between leaders, policy entrepreneurs and facilitators. One aspect, however, was consistently important for policy reform: strong leadership at the prime ministerial, portfolio and departmental levels. Yet one actor appears less central in these analyses: the public.
This observation is surprising considering democracy is in the title of the book and features prominently in its introduction. For instance, the authors state:
This characterisation, however, does not reflect the philosophical debates concerning where power resides in a democracy. Rousseau, for instance, argues that sovereignty resides with the people and that legitimate government derives its authority from the general will. For Mill, representative institutions remained important, but democracy also served an educative function, developing citizens’ capacities through participation in public affairs. Instead, Australian democracy is treated as static, where government is for the people but not necessarily by the people.
Under this model, the bureaucracy can deliver responsive policy while citizens remain at a distance from policy development. This has normative and practical implications: should people exercise ultimate authority over policy, or should policy be made by policy elites with the aim of serving the people? This is particularly relevant today as we see the rise of populism in Australia. With support for the major parties and political institutions at all-time lows, there is a growing perception that a mismatch exists between citizens’ preferences and the policies devised by political elites.
Weberian democracy may be more normatively contested than the authors realise. It is functional but vulnerable to legitimacy crises when the distance between citizens and decision-makers becomes too great. At present, there is increasing pressure for governments to be more directly responsive to popular concerns. Many forms of populism draw on ideas that resemble Rousseau’s emphasis on popular sovereignty and the claim that political authority derives from the people, whereas Mill provides a conception in which participation itself has democratic and developmental value.
Though the praxis of democratic philosophy in Australia may be contested, popular sovereignty is currently channelled through the Westminster system, where power is concentrated in the executive branch of government. While leadership is presented as an important factor influencing reform, the authors somewhat understate its criticality. As the immigration and housing case studies illustrate, when departments slowed or resisted reform, prime ministers used the PMO or DPMC to drive change. When political and bureaucratic leadership aligned, reform proceeded rapidly.
Leadership, and the power vested in the office of Prime Minister, appears more central to policy transformation than the authors explicitly acknowledge. Yet power alone is insufficient. Leaders must also exercise judgement, build support and persuade others of the merits of reform. As Weber recognised, formal authority must be translated into political power, while for Berlin politics ultimately requires choosing between competing and irreconcilable values. The successful reformers in these case studies did not merely possess authority; they exercised it.
The contemporary relevance of this observation is evident in Australian politics today. Leaders matter because they decide what is necessary and wield power accordingly. An example of strong leadership—judged here as a mechanism, not an endorsement—is the current Northern Territory Government (NTG). It has a simple agenda—reducing crime, rebuilding the economy, and restoring the Territory lifestyle. Despite some bureaucratic resistance, the NTG has remained steadfast, and, though it has taken a couple of years, the bureaucracy has been reformed to fulfil its needs.
In Weberian terms, the NTG has converted the authority vested in it by the people into genuine power, and, in Berlinian terms, it has used the power of its leadership to enact policies in a contested political sphere. Policies have been advanced that disproportionately affect First Nations people, including tough-on-crime laws and changes to child protection services. Though many disagree with what the NTG is doing, no one can deny that they have stuck to their agenda. The same cannot be said of the current Commonwealth government, and in particular, Anthony Albanese.
Albanese brought the Voice to Parliament to a referendum. Yet, in the wake of its failure, he made missteps that affected the result. Announcing his intent to implement it in full election night made it a partisan issue. First Nations advocates and policy entrepreneurs had spent a decade trying to ensure it had bipartisan support. Secondly, the machinations to support a successful referendum were not sufficiently established when referendum legislation was passed. Thirdly, when the Voice looked set to fail, the plug was not pulled. And fourth, there was no backup plan.
The blame cannot be laid entirely at Albanese’s feet; mis- and disinformation were key causes of the Voice’s downfall as well. However, the response, or lack thereof, in the subsequent three years can. Since the Voice’s failure, the Commonwealth has returned to market-driven initiatives to advance First Nations people. Meanwhile, key metrics of Closing the Gap, including suicides, incarceration rates and children in out-of-home care, are going backwards. This has occurred while support for One Nation rises. If elected to power, they have pledged to abolish all Indigenous affairs agencies.
Policy entrepreneurs and advocates of the Voice—Megan Davis, Marcia Langton, Noel Pearson—remain, and a new generation have come up through the ranks—Thomas Mayo, Allira Davis and Bridget Cama. Yet, as mentioned, without the proactive support of the nation’s leader, change is not forthcoming. Whitlam and Keating arguably had less power than Albanese has today. They used the power vested in their office to enact lasting First Nations policy change. They reformed the bureaucracy and convinced the public of the need for change.
Weber, Rousseau and Mill each provide reasons for questioning political inaction. In Weberian terms, Albanese’s paralysis erodes his mandate to lead on this issue and emboldens adversaries. Rousseau suggests that governments lose legitimacy when they fail to advance the public interest and exercise the authority entrusted to them. Mill, consistent with his emphasis on political developmental capacity, argues that inaction may be justified where it prevents harm, but is harder to defend when it allows preventable harm to persist. Albanese, by not acting, is failing on all fronts.
The Voice may have been defeated, for now, but that does not warrant a return to the status quo ante. Significant reform is still possible. Victoria, for instance, successfully implemented a treaty with its First Nations people, Australia’s first, despite the state voting against the Voice. After the 2025 landslide election, Albanese’s continued hesitancy to pursue substantive First Nations reform is difficult to reconcile with the strength of his political position. The referendum was a single-issue vote, which would likely be marginal at best at a general election.
How the bureaucracy functions depends on the congruence of political ideology between the leader, the government minister, and the head of the department. If aligned, they work in tandem. But if not, the government will ensure they yield—either by changing personnel or by bypassing them. Perhaps Yes, Minister is not as satirically accurate as people claim: if the government wants to do something, and the people do not necessarily push back, it can be done. In an ironic way, Albanese acts more like the elusive public servant: a hindrance rather than a policy entrepreneur.
Perhaps this is a symptom of the twilight of Australian exceptionalism—an ironic term to use in this instance, as Paul Kelly vehemently opposed the Voice referendum, which would have been the most significant reform for First Nations people since Captain Cook first claimed Aboriginal land for the British Empi...
I've run out space again. To read the rest of this analysis, subscribe to my Substack: https://callumscolumn.substack.com/
Government: some people want it big; some people want it small. Either way, a government’s purpose is to implement policy, ideas for how societal interactions, in whole or in part, should be governed. Though normative, policy is “constrained in two ways: by political demand—what is pressing, community concerns, what do experts forecast, what does the government want, what methods is it willing to accept—and by history.” Postwar, Australian society was transformed through radical policy change. Today, however, we are in a “period of increasing policy turmoil.” Why?
To understand the present, James Walter and Carolyn Holbrook argue that one must look to the past. In Australia Fair? Democracy, Bureaucracy and the Making of Modern Australia, they take a historical-comparative approach to three highly contentious policy domains, immigration, Indigenous affairs, and housing, to understand the “behind-the-scenes network that feeds into policy decisions” during “historical moments of ideological delirium when received views lose traction, the problems this presents for those managing transition, and the seeds of innovation.”
This book is divided into four parts. The first three correspond to the chosen policy domains. The remainder of this review begins with the fourth part, where the authors posit a symbiotic formula for policy change, before showing how this affected housing and immigration policy. It then critiques some of the book’s conclusions before applying them to contemporary debates on Indigenous affairs. In short, Walter and Holbrook assert that policy reform is dependent on historical context, leadership, policy entrepreneurs, theorists, and facilitators.
There have been two broad economic paradigms in the postwar period: a mixed economy with Keynesian underpinnings, whose dominance was undermined by stagflation in the 1970s; and a non-interventionist, market-driven paradigm which remains. Such paradigms limited the options for policy reform, yet the extent of state intervention or retrenchment within each paradigm depended on the ideological leanings of the government of the day. Leadership, particularly inspirational leadership, at both the political and departmental levels, was integral to change.
Leaders are often policy entrepreneurs. They build networks and broadcast policy to bridge the “gap between the political and bureaucratic milieu and the people.” Some argue that persuading the people is not necessary, as they do not have sufficient grounding in policy intricacies, and that leaders can instead act decisively without public support when an opportunity arises. This reflects an elitist conception of policymaking. That said, policy leaders require theorists and facilitators, technocrats, public intellectuals, and advocates to develop policy frameworks and put their ideas into practice.
Postwar, Britain could not sustain large migration outflows, which Australia had relied upon for industrial expansion. Labour had to come from elsewhere, yet there were two constraints: retaining the White Australia policy, and maintaining advances in industrial relations. Prominent public servant H.C. Coombs proposed expanding migration eligibility to include Europeans, while placing obligations on assimilation and contributing to national development through government-directed employment. Strong policy entrepreneurship from the Chifley government was integral.
White Australia was gradually dismantled following increasing international backlash. But it was the arrival of Vietnamese refugees in the 1970s that proved the catalyst for reform. The Fraser Government developed a “sharper definition of refugees, treating them as a discrete element rather than just another migrant group” and enacted this policy through the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet. They restructured immigration administration to support civic nationalism, replacing assimilation with commitment to liberal-democratic values.
Migration rates expanded, yet illegal boat arrivals continued in the 1980s and 1990s. Senior bureaucrats in the DoI drafted changes to the Migration Act to strip judicial power over borders and retain this power for the executive through mandatory onshore detention. Keating made it law. During these deliberations, however, ideas germinated that would later become hallmarks of Australian policy: offshore detention and boat turn-backs. Though not adopted by Keating, as illegal boat arrivals continued, especially after 9/11, Howard implemented both.
Howard recognised that “there had to be a balance between the positive objectives of immigration and the need to efficiently manage unexpected arrivals...”. Yet it was a bureaucrat, Michael Pezzullo, who would transform the immigration department. Elevated by Julia Gillard, and then embraced by the Coalition, Pezzullo militarised border security, “underscoring the increasing harshness with which refugee applications were treated. It had profound effects on public discourse about immigration generally and boxed [the current Labor government] in.”
Immigration policy was therefore sustained through a reciprocal process in which:
“Demand for migrant labour had driven the relative liberal openness of postwar Australia… [A]n ever-diversifying immigration program, with an incremental shift to civic nationalism and multiculturalism, enhanced prosperity… [Yet] it was public servants who persuaded [government] that the smugglers’ business model must be broken lest public disquiet about illegal immigrants threaten the more important objective of large-scale immigration and the multicultural settlement.”Immigration policy is being questioned. My previous column tied this to the cost of living, primarily driven by housing unaffordability. It was not always so. The authors posit that “for Curtin and Chifley, housing policy required that working-class Australians be provided with affordable accommodation… Such a need was to be addressed through expansive ‘state provision, with direction of planning and development.’” Yet, “there were divisions between those within the Commonwealth policy arena,” with Treasury significantly watering it down after baulking at its cost.
Under Robert Menzies, Commonwealth housing policy shifted away from public provision and towards home ownership. It was up to “the individual to help himself.” This state of affairs lasted until Whitlam established the Department of Urban and Regional Development (DURD): “a bureaucratic juggernaut” including the nation’s best planners in housing. It chaired an inter-departmental committee, “but instead of DURD coordinating recalcitrant departments it became somewhere for the other departments to pick apart whatever DURD was trying to do.”
Fraser abolished DURD in late 1975. Whitlam observed: “The days of urban laissez-faire had returned,” with Fraser reducing “Federal Outlays on urban and regional development by 86 per cent.” Housing reform was briefly revived under Hawke and then Keating with the Building Better Cities program. Unlike DURD, it used market initiatives and focused on economic efficiency to achieve its ends. Like DURD, though, it needed maturation to achieve enduring influence, yet this did not happen after the change of government, with the authors asserting:
“After 1996, everything changed. The age of adapting to the imperatives of global markets had arrived. With it came a ‘contract state, a government that regulates markets but does not participate in them, and a residual public service that sets policy but relies on the private sector to deliver services.’… Reform aspirations for cities and housing provision must produce efficiency and productivity gains and engender private sector partnerships. It was an enduring expectation under governments thereafter.”A problem was allowed to fester into a crisis. Under the Albanese government, there has been a move to strengthen national housing institutions and capacity, including NHSAC and an expanded Housing Australia, for “institutional reform and capacity building.” However, the authors posit that Labor’s offerings were “modest given the scale of the problems it faced” and comment on the disparate nature of its raft of proposals. That said, the drafting of this book predates the 2026 changes to negative gearing and capital gains tax, so there is now more reform on the way.
From these brief summaries, one can see the reciprocal nature of the various actors in policy transformation. The political context, whether political or economic crisis, a change in government, or both, opens the window for reform. Its success depends on the machinery of government and the interaction between leaders, policy entrepreneurs and facilitators. One aspect, however, was consistently important for policy reform: strong leadership at the prime ministerial, portfolio and departmental levels. Yet one actor appears less central in these analyses: the public.
This observation is surprising considering democracy is in the title of the book and features prominently in its introduction. For instance, the authors state:
“The fundamental conundrum for liberal democracies is that liberalism centres on freedom and equal rights, while democracy hinges on the expectation that collective decisions take account of our wishes…. And yet, our politicians and the bureaucrats who serve them can be guided by knowledge we do not share. There is, then, always a potential inequality… between the resources and influence of the policy elite and the people…. [Which] depends on ensuring that the public is properly informed and as far as possible given a voice in matters that affect them.”The authors, however, treat Australian representative democracy as largely settled. Australians elect members of parliament who, if their party is in government, work with bureaucrats to administer law. The bureaucracy-politician nexus, characterised as elitist by the authors, implicitly reflects a Weberian view of democracy: due to the complexity of modern government, the public’s primary role is to select who governs, rather than participate directly in policy development. This aligns with the explicit invocation of Weberian bureaucracy outlined in the book’s introduction.
This characterisation, however, does not reflect the philosophical debates concerning where power resides in a democracy. Rousseau, for instance, argues that sovereignty resides with the people and that legitimate government derives its authority from the general will. For Mill, representative institutions remained important, but democracy also served an educative function, developing citizens’ capacities through participation in public affairs. Instead, Australian democracy is treated as static, where government is for the people but not necessarily by the people.
Under this model, the bureaucracy can deliver responsive policy while citizens remain at a distance from policy development. This has normative and practical implications: should people exercise ultimate authority over policy, or should policy be made by policy elites with the aim of serving the people? This is particularly relevant today as we see the rise of populism in Australia. With support for the major parties and political institutions at all-time lows, there is a growing perception that a mismatch exists between citizens’ preferences and the policies devised by political elites.
Weberian democracy may be more normatively contested than the authors realise. It is functional but vulnerable to legitimacy crises when the distance between citizens and decision-makers becomes too great. At present, there is increasing pressure for governments to be more directly responsive to popular concerns. Many forms of populism draw on ideas that resemble Rousseau’s emphasis on popular sovereignty and the claim that political authority derives from the people, whereas Mill provides a conception in which participation itself has democratic and developmental value.
Though the praxis of democratic philosophy in Australia may be contested, popular sovereignty is currently channelled through the Westminster system, where power is concentrated in the executive branch of government. While leadership is presented as an important factor influencing reform, the authors somewhat understate its criticality. As the immigration and housing case studies illustrate, when departments slowed or resisted reform, prime ministers used the PMO or DPMC to drive change. When political and bureaucratic leadership aligned, reform proceeded rapidly.
Leadership, and the power vested in the office of Prime Minister, appears more central to policy transformation than the authors explicitly acknowledge. Yet power alone is insufficient. Leaders must also exercise judgement, build support and persuade others of the merits of reform. As Weber recognised, formal authority must be translated into political power, while for Berlin politics ultimately requires choosing between competing and irreconcilable values. The successful reformers in these case studies did not merely possess authority; they exercised it.
The contemporary relevance of this observation is evident in Australian politics today. Leaders matter because they decide what is necessary and wield power accordingly. An example of strong leadership—judged here as a mechanism, not an endorsement—is the current Northern Territory Government (NTG). It has a simple agenda—reducing crime, rebuilding the economy, and restoring the Territory lifestyle. Despite some bureaucratic resistance, the NTG has remained steadfast, and, though it has taken a couple of years, the bureaucracy has been reformed to fulfil its needs.
In Weberian terms, the NTG has converted the authority vested in it by the people into genuine power, and, in Berlinian terms, it has used the power of its leadership to enact policies in a contested political sphere. Policies have been advanced that disproportionately affect First Nations people, including tough-on-crime laws and changes to child protection services. Though many disagree with what the NTG is doing, no one can deny that they have stuck to their agenda. The same cannot be said of the current Commonwealth government, and in particular, Anthony Albanese.
Albanese brought the Voice to Parliament to a referendum. Yet, in the wake of its failure, he made missteps that affected the result. Announcing his intent to implement it in full election night made it a partisan issue. First Nations advocates and policy entrepreneurs had spent a decade trying to ensure it had bipartisan support. Secondly, the machinations to support a successful referendum were not sufficiently established when referendum legislation was passed. Thirdly, when the Voice looked set to fail, the plug was not pulled. And fourth, there was no backup plan.
The blame cannot be laid entirely at Albanese’s feet; mis- and disinformation were key causes of the Voice’s downfall as well. However, the response, or lack thereof, in the subsequent three years can. Since the Voice’s failure, the Commonwealth has returned to market-driven initiatives to advance First Nations people. Meanwhile, key metrics of Closing the Gap, including suicides, incarceration rates and children in out-of-home care, are going backwards. This has occurred while support for One Nation rises. If elected to power, they have pledged to abolish all Indigenous affairs agencies.
Policy entrepreneurs and advocates of the Voice—Megan Davis, Marcia Langton, Noel Pearson—remain, and a new generation have come up through the ranks—Thomas Mayo, Allira Davis and Bridget Cama. Yet, as mentioned, without the proactive support of the nation’s leader, change is not forthcoming. Whitlam and Keating arguably had less power than Albanese has today. They used the power vested in their office to enact lasting First Nations policy change. They reformed the bureaucracy and convinced the public of the need for change.
Weber, Rousseau and Mill each provide reasons for questioning political inaction. In Weberian terms, Albanese’s paralysis erodes his mandate to lead on this issue and emboldens adversaries. Rousseau suggests that governments lose legitimacy when they fail to advance the public interest and exercise the authority entrusted to them. Mill, consistent with his emphasis on political developmental capacity, argues that inaction may be justified where it prevents harm, but is harder to defend when it allows preventable harm to persist. Albanese, by not acting, is failing on all fronts.
The Voice may have been defeated, for now, but that does not warrant a return to the status quo ante. Significant reform is still possible. Victoria, for instance, successfully implemented a treaty with its First Nations people, Australia’s first, despite the state voting against the Voice. After the 2025 landslide election, Albanese’s continued hesitancy to pursue substantive First Nations reform is difficult to reconcile with the strength of his political position. The referendum was a single-issue vote, which would likely be marginal at best at a general election.
How the bureaucracy functions depends on the congruence of political ideology between the leader, the government minister, and the head of the department. If aligned, they work in tandem. But if not, the government will ensure they yield—either by changing personnel or by bypassing them. Perhaps Yes, Minister is not as satirically accurate as people claim: if the government wants to do something, and the people do not necessarily push back, it can be done. In an ironic way, Albanese acts more like the elusive public servant: a hindrance rather than a policy entrepreneur.
Perhaps this is a symptom of the twilight of Australian exceptionalism—an ironic term to use in this instance, as Paul Kelly vehemently opposed the Voice referendum, which would have been the most significant reform for First Nations people since Captain Cook first claimed Aboriginal land for the British Empi...
I've run out space again. To read the rest of this analysis, subscribe to my Substack: https://callumscolumn.substack.com/
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