Albanese is the conservative who mugged the Liberals. Let's hope he seizes the moment
Everyone has a Medicare card and Albanese was wise to embed in the public consciousness that Medicare is a Labor Party creation, implemented by Bob Hawke's government in 1984 against the fierce opposition of the Coalition. Because Medicare, for all its shortcomings, is an entrenched and popular feature of everyday Australian life, the Labor Party of today has been able to leverage Hawke's long-ago policy success to its great advantage.
There's upside for the ALP in portraying itself as a defender of institutions, as it can make the party look less risky, and Albanese leant into this heavily during the election campaign. At his recent post-election address at the National Press Club, he outlined the reasons Labor had won a second term. Electors, he said, had voted for Australian values and for doing things 'our way' – that is, not like Donald Trump and Trump-wannabe Peter Dutton. He also cited Labor's 'commitment to fair wages and conditions, universal Medicare and universal superannuation' that 'set us apart from the world'.
In some respects, it's a conservative formulation for a centre-left party: preserving what's already in place. And that signals some potential downside for the government. Universal super was the joint brainchild of Paul Keating and the ACTU's Bill Kelty as part of the union movement's Accord agreement, which also gave rise to Medicare. The historically transformational nature of universal super has been brought into sharp focus this week, with the attainment of the compulsory 12 per cent super contribution and the wider discussion about super balances in the millions of dollars.
Inevitably, talk of that achievement invites comparisons between the current Labor government and the all-conquering five-term government led first by Hawke and then Keating.
Hawke and Keating wasted no time in office. The Albanese government is 38 months old. Inside the same timeframe, the Hawke government had held two summits – on the economy and on tax – and introduced Medicare, a new incomes policy, an assets test on pensions, floated the dollar, changed the banking system, begun the march on super and produced a comprehensive new package of tax measures.
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Somewhere within the Labor Party, people will eventually start to ask what a Labor leader 40 years from now will be fighting to preserve from the Albanese years. The course that the prime minister is pursuing – backed strongly by Labor's national secretary Paul Erickson, who has definitely earned his status as the nation's campaigning guru du jour – is the one that secured the government's second victory. In short, the government's first priority will be about delivering methodically on its promises, namely reducing HECS debts, building 1.2 million homes, continuing the push towards renewables, increasing the number of Medicare urgent clinics, and continuing to keep inflation down.
That makes sense, especially since the national political scene is now a bunch of players who have, to an extent, been mugged by reality. Everyone is a smartie after the event, but no one expected a Labor landslide. The government wasn't geared up for it. The Liberals had even less of a clue. None of the polls predicted it. YouGov got closest; its central projection was 84 lower house seats for Labor – a mild increase on its majority but still 10 short of the actual, stratospheric result.
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Sydney Morning Herald
25 minutes ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Iran's latest decision reveals flaw in Trump's big plan
If before the strike Iran seemed able to race for a bomb but was not yet quite ready, after the strike it is dependent on playing a giant game of nuclear three-card monte. Iran will keep shuffling its nuclear assets around, as the Mossad, US intelligence agencies and the banned UN inspectors will constantly be looking for human intelligence or satellite evidence of the tunnels and caves where the projects might be hidden. 'After the strike the old problem remains: Iran has enriched uranium, it has centrifuges and there are no inspectors,' said Jake Sullivan, who helped refine strike plans against the Iranian program when he served as national security adviser under president Joe Biden, who decided against using them. 'With mowing the lawn, you have uncertainty, instability and continued military action,' he said. 'Yet if you try to do a deal, President Trump will confront the same problem he had before: Do you insist on complete dismantlement, which Iran probably won't agree to even now? Or try to contain the program,' allowing for some form of low-level, highly inspected enrichment, 'in a way that gives you confidence they can't go for a nuke?' The Pentagon is not exactly encouraging that confidence. Its chief spokesperson, Sean Parnell, said on Wednesday (Thursday AEST) that he believed Iran's nuclear program had been pushed back 'probably closer to two years' – an assessment that, if accurate, would mean that Trump bought less time with the attack than president Barack Obama did when he signed the 2015 accord that froze Iran's program. With their main production facilities buried beneath the rubble, the only leverage the Iranians have these days is the suggestion – with no proof – that their stockpile of 10 or so bombs' worth of fuel survived, and their surviving nuclear scientists have access to it. Maybe they are bluffing. But it is the best card they have to play. And the only way to be sure, Sullivan noted, is 'with a deal, one that ensures every inch of the program is inspected'. Other experts agree. 'We can't yet judge how likely the covert nuclear weapons production scenario really is,' said Robert Einhorn, a former US diplomat and Brookings Institution nuclear expert who dealt with the Iranian program a decade ago. But, he noted, 'it is a potential pathway for Iran building a small nuclear arsenal relatively soon, and so we must do what we can to block it', chiefly getting International Atomic Energy Agency monitors back into the country's widely distributed nuclear facilities, including two suspected new enrichment centres. Iranian officials have accused the agency's director-general, Rafael Mariano Grossi, of complicity in the attacks. Grossi says he had no involvement or advance warning. Early talk of a meeting between Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi and Trump's special envoy, Steve Witkoff, to reach a post-strike nuclear deal – presumably a more restrictive one than was on the table before the attack – has melted away, at least for now. The Iranians insist they want assurances they will not be attacked during negotiations again. It is unclear that they would believe such a commitment even if it is offered, since Trump declared in mid-June that he was giving them two weeks to respond to a final US offer. The B-2 bombers were over their targets two days later. With Iran's leaders portraying the end of the conflict with Israel as a victory, and downplaying the damage done by US strikes, experts see little hope of an accord that would satisfy both sides. 'They are not going to agree to unconditional surrender next week or even next month,' said Karim Sadjadpour, an Iran scholar at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, using the term Trump employed before he ordered military action. 'I think that's a process which plays out the more we tighten the economic grip on their ability to export oil.' The central question, of course, is what lesson the Iranians emerge with as they survey the damage done. Trump and Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth have declared there is only one lesson for the Iranians: their nuclear program is over. That is why Trump and Hegseth are so invested in the narrative that the program was 'obliterated', suggesting it could never be revived. Loading Most experts expect Iran to come to a different conclusion; that countries that inch toward a nuclear weapon – but stop short of crossing the line, as Iran did – get bombed. In contrast, countries that race for an arsenal do not. The Israelis bombed the Osirak reactor in 1981 to keep Iraq from getting the bomb, though Saddam Hussein resurrected the program before the first Gulf War, only to have it discovered and dismantled. (He famously did not build it anew before the US-led invasion in 2003.) A little more than two decades later, Muammar Gaddafi gave up his nascent nuclear program, before many of the components were unboxed, a move he may have regretted as he was chased across Libya and killed eight years later. In 2007, Israeli jets took out a Syrian nuclear reactor that was being constructed with the help of North Korea, to prevent the Assad government from going down the nuclear road. In all three cases, the countries had not yet made it to the cusp of a bomb. Loading Iran may conclude from the events of the past 10 days that its wiser choice for the future is to follow the path of North Korea. Rather than walk up to the nuclear line, it stepped over it, conducting its first nuclear test in 2006, when president George W. Bush was in office. Since then, North Korea has developed an arsenal of 60 or more nuclear weapons, experts say, and it is creeping up on a capability to reach the United States with its missiles – one of the reasons Trump is pushing so hard for a 'Golden Dome' defensive shield. One former senior intelligence official noted that if Iran already had nuclear weapons, rather than inching toward them, neither Israel nor the United States would have taken the risk of attacking. It is a mistake, he added, that the Iranians are not likely to make twice.
SBS Australia
2 hours ago
- SBS Australia
'More can be done': The knowledge gap Australians have with their retirement nest egg
The final increase to the superannuation guarantee has taken effect, meaning employers are now required to pay a minimum contribution of 12 per cent into their employees' super funds. But around a third of people are unaware where their retirement funds are invested — a similar proportion don't know their super balance, and one in 10 have never checked. These were the findings of a survey of 3,146 Australians conducted by the Commonwealth Bank, which suggested the knowledge gap about how super is invested was higher among gen Z and women, at 43 per cent. Jessica Irvine, the bank's personal finance expert, said people have more confidence in managing their day-to-day finances, but need more assistance to understand retirement options. Echoing her views, Wayne Swan, the former federal treasurer who oversaw the legislation guaranteeing the increase from nine to 12 per cent, told SBS News that more needed to be done to engage Australians with their retirement planning. Swan, now chair of Cbus, an industry super fund, said: "I think that all superannuation funds acknowledge and do their best to achieve [that], and there's always more that can be done." What is happening with superannuation? Thirty-four years ago, former prime minister Paul Keating shared his vision of an Australian future that included a 12 per cent target for compulsory super contributions. Now, he said, that system "finally matures". The superannuation guarantee has risen since 2012 to reach 12 per cent. In a statement to mark the 1 July increase to 12 per cent, Keating said it "will guarantee personal super accumulations in excess of $3 million at retirement" for someone entering the workforce today. "Superannuation, like Medicare, is now an Australian community standard, binding the whole population as a national economic family, with each person having a place," he said. How did we get here? Superannuation in Australia stretches back to the early 20th century, but there were no attempts to institutionalise universal compulsory contributions before the mid-1980s. In 1985, the Australian Council of Trade Unions, with the support of the then-Hawke government, presented a National Wage Case to the Conciliation and Arbitration Commission about a 3 per cent compulsory contribution for all Australian workers. The tribunal sided with the union in 1986 but ruled it as optional — subject to agreement between employers and employees. Five years later, in Keating's final federal budget as treasurer, the 3 per cent superannuation guarantee levy was made compulsory. It came into effect the following year, when Keating was prime minister, with the introduction of a superannuation guarantee charge to penalise employers who don't meet their contribution obligations. The mandatory rate then gradually increased to 9 per cent by 2002. It was supposed to reach 12 per cent by 2000, but, under the Howard government, there were no further increases until 1 July 2013. In 2010, two years after the Global Financial Crisis and in response to the findings of the Henry Tax Review, then-treasurer Swan unveiled a plan to incrementally lift the superannuation guarantee levy to 12 per cent. He said it would increase by 0.5 per cent each year between 2013 and 2019. In 2010, then-treasurer Wayne Swan (pictured right) announced a plan to gradually increase the superannuation guarantee levy from 9 per cent to 12 per cent. Source: AAP / Alan Porritt But two months after it rose to 9.25 per cent in 2013, Tony Abbott stormed to a landslide election victory — and followed through on an election promise to delay increases to the guarantee due to cost pressures on small businesses. The government failed to legislate the delay the following year, and the rate was lifted to 9.5 per cent — a level it remained at for seven years. It wasn't until Australia was in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic that the incremental increases began. Starting in 2021, it rose by 0.5 per cent each year. LISTEN TO SBS News 30/06/2025 08:22 English The 12 per cent milestone Australia's superannuation system now manages over $4 trillion in assets, ranking as the fourth-largest pension market in the world. The 12 per cent milestone is expected to propel Australia to second place within a decade — just behind the United States — despite its relatively small population. Swan said the superannuation guarantee levy not only delivers a secure retirement for all Australians, but "fundamentally alters the distribution of wealth in our community". "It gives access to growth assets to everyone in the community. From a building worker through to a professional in the office tower, everyone in Australia gets to own a piece of the wealth of this great country in a way that's never before been possible," he said. Swan said he's "absolutely proud to have been part of this story". "I always think of those pioneers, particularly the unionists, who fought to establish this scheme 40 years ago. What it really shows is that ordinary working people can effect change in a society like ours," he said. "What visionaries they were, and what they have done to make our country not only a bigger and more successful economy, but a fairer one as well." What is a 'comfortable retirement'? Swan said while the six-year delay in achieving a 12 per cent increase came at a cost to Australian superannuation balances, the benefits are greater from having finally reached that milestone. "For someone who's, say, 30 years old now, it's going to mean an extra $130,000 in their retirement," he said. That follows recent modelling by the Association of Superannuation Funds of Australia (ASFA). The super peak body's retirement standard for June 2025 projects a 30-year-old today on the median wage of $75,000 and a $30,000 super balance would witness that figure rise to $610,000 by the retirement age of 67. This amount exceeds ASFA's estimate of the $595,000 needed to afford a comfortable retirement for singles and $690,000 for couples. ASFA defines a 'comfortable' retirement as someone who owns their home outright, is in good health, can afford top-level private health insurance, has a good car, and engages in a range of leisure and recreational activities, including taking one domestic trip a year and one international trip every seven years. Business concerns There are concerns that a string of 1 July changes , including the increase to the superannuation guarantee levy, could hit businesses and place further pressure on cash flow. Luke Achterstraat, CEO, Council of Small Business Organisations Australia, said: "The increase of the superannuation guarantee comes at a time when award rates have also increased 3.5 per cent, national productivity is in decline, and payroll tax and workers' compensation insurance will also increase." There are concerns that an increase to the superannuation guarantee levy and other changes that took effect on 1 July could negatively impact small businesses and further pressure their cash flow. Source: AAP "This puts small businesses between a rock and a hard place, needing to either absorb or pass on these costs to consumers," Achterstraat said. Beyond 12 per cent: Where to from here? The 0.5 per cent increase to 12 per cent is the last one legislated by the Australian government. However, with life expectancy improving, would we need more in our nest egg, and is there a case for raising the superannuation guarantee even further? "I think there's going to be a debate about whether we need to go above 12 per cent," Swan said. "I think 12 per cent can certainly guarantee quite a dignified retirement for all Australians, but that will be a discussion that will be had in the years ahead."
The Advertiser
2 hours ago
- The Advertiser
Does Sir Joh remind you of someone else?
Joh - the Last King of Queensland MA 15+, 98 minutes, Stan 4 Stars What was it about Joh Bjelke-Petersen, the outlandish state premier who drove a tractor through the democratic process in Queensland and then made a move on Canberra? The string of colourful, catchy phrases that people use to nail his outsize personality in this new documentary profile range from force of nature to corrupt bastard, with one standout. That Joh wrote the playbook for Trump. That's it. As we keep asking ourselves, as though in the grip of OCD, how the US could have come up with such a president, twice, this film is particularly timely. While it's unlikely Trump noted the remarkable success Down Under of the state's National Party leader from 1968 to 1987, it seems fair to say that these two men, similar in typology, share a political mindset that developed while they built their business empires with free rein. This is a timely political documentary, replete with archival footage, interviews with members of the Bjelke-Petersen family, and a wide range of expert opinion. Director Kriv Stenders, who shares screenwriting credits with author and journalist Matthew Condon, offers a portrait of a politician whose influence was long-lasting, and polarising. A touch of docudrama appears every now and then in scenes with actor Richard Roxburgh as Joh, reminding us of his commanding personality, his fumbling speaking style and slight limp. These scenes reimagine Joh's final days in power, inspired by the fact that he actually did lock himself in his office, refusing to accept that he had been stood down. It is very effective, as Roxburgh prowls the stage in declaratory mode, justifying his character's actions, insisting on the value of his legacy. The opening sequences didn't need to be so emphatic but the tone quickly fades, in the transition to interviews with Joh's son and daughters providing insight into the family man. A rural upbringing in tough circumstances when he helped his father with the milking before school, had developed a work ethic and approach to problem-solving. He left school early anyway and forged a thriving business in clearing bushland across the Downs. There was some peanut farming on the side, but it was his bush clearing business with tractors and anchor chain that made him a wealthy man. From sun-up until sundown and into the night, it was a solitary life until his 30s, when he married. Some more on his wife Flo, who became a politician in her own right, would have been a further interesting dimension. There is an impressive line-up of expert opinion assembled here. There are contributions from journalists Quentin Dempster and Chris Masters, political analyst Amy Remeikis, lawyer Terry O'Gorman, psephologist Antony Green, historian Frank Bongiorno and fellow Queensland politicians Bob Katter and David Littleproud. It is almost a surfeit of material for a feature of standard running time. A limited series would have also worked well. The reflections on Bjelke-Petersen's influence on Queenslanders in how they were encouraged to see themselves are intriguing. Authoritarian towards opposition forces in its own community, his regime polarised the Queensland community for decades. The gerrymander, by which country votes were worth more than city votes, kept him in power while he fanned hostility towards the federal system. Long years in power seemed to go to Bjelke-Petersen's head as he quelled the anti-apartheid protesters during a tour by the Springboks declaring a state of emergency. The footage of the police crackdown show how vicious their response was. Over an impressive career, filmmaker Stenders has shown considerable range, from the lovable family favourite Red Dog to the recent menacing political drama The Correspondent. The same can be said of Condon, author of a biography of Terry Lewis, a former Queensland commissioner of police under Bjelke-Petersen who was jailed for corruption. If the doco has insufficient detail on how Joh and his supporters were able to maintain a rigged state electoral system to stay in power, it is completely clear about the culture of police corruption that had taken hold in Queensland. Joh was never found legally responsible for the rot, but it's hard to accept that he was unaware of it and didn't manipulate it for his own purposes. As someone observes, Joh's concept of democracy was that he'd been voted for, so he could do what he wished. Sounds familiar. Joh - the Last King of Queensland MA 15+, 98 minutes, Stan 4 Stars What was it about Joh Bjelke-Petersen, the outlandish state premier who drove a tractor through the democratic process in Queensland and then made a move on Canberra? The string of colourful, catchy phrases that people use to nail his outsize personality in this new documentary profile range from force of nature to corrupt bastard, with one standout. That Joh wrote the playbook for Trump. That's it. As we keep asking ourselves, as though in the grip of OCD, how the US could have come up with such a president, twice, this film is particularly timely. While it's unlikely Trump noted the remarkable success Down Under of the state's National Party leader from 1968 to 1987, it seems fair to say that these two men, similar in typology, share a political mindset that developed while they built their business empires with free rein. This is a timely political documentary, replete with archival footage, interviews with members of the Bjelke-Petersen family, and a wide range of expert opinion. Director Kriv Stenders, who shares screenwriting credits with author and journalist Matthew Condon, offers a portrait of a politician whose influence was long-lasting, and polarising. A touch of docudrama appears every now and then in scenes with actor Richard Roxburgh as Joh, reminding us of his commanding personality, his fumbling speaking style and slight limp. These scenes reimagine Joh's final days in power, inspired by the fact that he actually did lock himself in his office, refusing to accept that he had been stood down. It is very effective, as Roxburgh prowls the stage in declaratory mode, justifying his character's actions, insisting on the value of his legacy. The opening sequences didn't need to be so emphatic but the tone quickly fades, in the transition to interviews with Joh's son and daughters providing insight into the family man. A rural upbringing in tough circumstances when he helped his father with the milking before school, had developed a work ethic and approach to problem-solving. He left school early anyway and forged a thriving business in clearing bushland across the Downs. There was some peanut farming on the side, but it was his bush clearing business with tractors and anchor chain that made him a wealthy man. From sun-up until sundown and into the night, it was a solitary life until his 30s, when he married. Some more on his wife Flo, who became a politician in her own right, would have been a further interesting dimension. There is an impressive line-up of expert opinion assembled here. There are contributions from journalists Quentin Dempster and Chris Masters, political analyst Amy Remeikis, lawyer Terry O'Gorman, psephologist Antony Green, historian Frank Bongiorno and fellow Queensland politicians Bob Katter and David Littleproud. It is almost a surfeit of material for a feature of standard running time. A limited series would have also worked well. The reflections on Bjelke-Petersen's influence on Queenslanders in how they were encouraged to see themselves are intriguing. Authoritarian towards opposition forces in its own community, his regime polarised the Queensland community for decades. The gerrymander, by which country votes were worth more than city votes, kept him in power while he fanned hostility towards the federal system. Long years in power seemed to go to Bjelke-Petersen's head as he quelled the anti-apartheid protesters during a tour by the Springboks declaring a state of emergency. The footage of the police crackdown show how vicious their response was. Over an impressive career, filmmaker Stenders has shown considerable range, from the lovable family favourite Red Dog to the recent menacing political drama The Correspondent. The same can be said of Condon, author of a biography of Terry Lewis, a former Queensland commissioner of police under Bjelke-Petersen who was jailed for corruption. If the doco has insufficient detail on how Joh and his supporters were able to maintain a rigged state electoral system to stay in power, it is completely clear about the culture of police corruption that had taken hold in Queensland. Joh was never found legally responsible for the rot, but it's hard to accept that he was unaware of it and didn't manipulate it for his own purposes. As someone observes, Joh's concept of democracy was that he'd been voted for, so he could do what he wished. Sounds familiar. Joh - the Last King of Queensland MA 15+, 98 minutes, Stan 4 Stars What was it about Joh Bjelke-Petersen, the outlandish state premier who drove a tractor through the democratic process in Queensland and then made a move on Canberra? The string of colourful, catchy phrases that people use to nail his outsize personality in this new documentary profile range from force of nature to corrupt bastard, with one standout. That Joh wrote the playbook for Trump. That's it. As we keep asking ourselves, as though in the grip of OCD, how the US could have come up with such a president, twice, this film is particularly timely. While it's unlikely Trump noted the remarkable success Down Under of the state's National Party leader from 1968 to 1987, it seems fair to say that these two men, similar in typology, share a political mindset that developed while they built their business empires with free rein. This is a timely political documentary, replete with archival footage, interviews with members of the Bjelke-Petersen family, and a wide range of expert opinion. Director Kriv Stenders, who shares screenwriting credits with author and journalist Matthew Condon, offers a portrait of a politician whose influence was long-lasting, and polarising. A touch of docudrama appears every now and then in scenes with actor Richard Roxburgh as Joh, reminding us of his commanding personality, his fumbling speaking style and slight limp. These scenes reimagine Joh's final days in power, inspired by the fact that he actually did lock himself in his office, refusing to accept that he had been stood down. It is very effective, as Roxburgh prowls the stage in declaratory mode, justifying his character's actions, insisting on the value of his legacy. The opening sequences didn't need to be so emphatic but the tone quickly fades, in the transition to interviews with Joh's son and daughters providing insight into the family man. A rural upbringing in tough circumstances when he helped his father with the milking before school, had developed a work ethic and approach to problem-solving. He left school early anyway and forged a thriving business in clearing bushland across the Downs. There was some peanut farming on the side, but it was his bush clearing business with tractors and anchor chain that made him a wealthy man. From sun-up until sundown and into the night, it was a solitary life until his 30s, when he married. Some more on his wife Flo, who became a politician in her own right, would have been a further interesting dimension. There is an impressive line-up of expert opinion assembled here. There are contributions from journalists Quentin Dempster and Chris Masters, political analyst Amy Remeikis, lawyer Terry O'Gorman, psephologist Antony Green, historian Frank Bongiorno and fellow Queensland politicians Bob Katter and David Littleproud. It is almost a surfeit of material for a feature of standard running time. A limited series would have also worked well. The reflections on Bjelke-Petersen's influence on Queenslanders in how they were encouraged to see themselves are intriguing. Authoritarian towards opposition forces in its own community, his regime polarised the Queensland community for decades. The gerrymander, by which country votes were worth more than city votes, kept him in power while he fanned hostility towards the federal system. Long years in power seemed to go to Bjelke-Petersen's head as he quelled the anti-apartheid protesters during a tour by the Springboks declaring a state of emergency. The footage of the police crackdown show how vicious their response was. Over an impressive career, filmmaker Stenders has shown considerable range, from the lovable family favourite Red Dog to the recent menacing political drama The Correspondent. The same can be said of Condon, author of a biography of Terry Lewis, a former Queensland commissioner of police under Bjelke-Petersen who was jailed for corruption. If the doco has insufficient detail on how Joh and his supporters were able to maintain a rigged state electoral system to stay in power, it is completely clear about the culture of police corruption that had taken hold in Queensland. Joh was never found legally responsible for the rot, but it's hard to accept that he was unaware of it and didn't manipulate it for his own purposes. As someone observes, Joh's concept of democracy was that he'd been voted for, so he could do what he wished. Sounds familiar. Joh - the Last King of Queensland MA 15+, 98 minutes, Stan 4 Stars What was it about Joh Bjelke-Petersen, the outlandish state premier who drove a tractor through the democratic process in Queensland and then made a move on Canberra? The string of colourful, catchy phrases that people use to nail his outsize personality in this new documentary profile range from force of nature to corrupt bastard, with one standout. That Joh wrote the playbook for Trump. That's it. As we keep asking ourselves, as though in the grip of OCD, how the US could have come up with such a president, twice, this film is particularly timely. While it's unlikely Trump noted the remarkable success Down Under of the state's National Party leader from 1968 to 1987, it seems fair to say that these two men, similar in typology, share a political mindset that developed while they built their business empires with free rein. This is a timely political documentary, replete with archival footage, interviews with members of the Bjelke-Petersen family, and a wide range of expert opinion. Director Kriv Stenders, who shares screenwriting credits with author and journalist Matthew Condon, offers a portrait of a politician whose influence was long-lasting, and polarising. A touch of docudrama appears every now and then in scenes with actor Richard Roxburgh as Joh, reminding us of his commanding personality, his fumbling speaking style and slight limp. These scenes reimagine Joh's final days in power, inspired by the fact that he actually did lock himself in his office, refusing to accept that he had been stood down. It is very effective, as Roxburgh prowls the stage in declaratory mode, justifying his character's actions, insisting on the value of his legacy. The opening sequences didn't need to be so emphatic but the tone quickly fades, in the transition to interviews with Joh's son and daughters providing insight into the family man. A rural upbringing in tough circumstances when he helped his father with the milking before school, had developed a work ethic and approach to problem-solving. He left school early anyway and forged a thriving business in clearing bushland across the Downs. There was some peanut farming on the side, but it was his bush clearing business with tractors and anchor chain that made him a wealthy man. From sun-up until sundown and into the night, it was a solitary life until his 30s, when he married. Some more on his wife Flo, who became a politician in her own right, would have been a further interesting dimension. There is an impressive line-up of expert opinion assembled here. There are contributions from journalists Quentin Dempster and Chris Masters, political analyst Amy Remeikis, lawyer Terry O'Gorman, psephologist Antony Green, historian Frank Bongiorno and fellow Queensland politicians Bob Katter and David Littleproud. It is almost a surfeit of material for a feature of standard running time. A limited series would have also worked well. The reflections on Bjelke-Petersen's influence on Queenslanders in how they were encouraged to see themselves are intriguing. Authoritarian towards opposition forces in its own community, his regime polarised the Queensland community for decades. The gerrymander, by which country votes were worth more than city votes, kept him in power while he fanned hostility towards the federal system. Long years in power seemed to go to Bjelke-Petersen's head as he quelled the anti-apartheid protesters during a tour by the Springboks declaring a state of emergency. The footage of the police crackdown show how vicious their response was. Over an impressive career, filmmaker Stenders has shown considerable range, from the lovable family favourite Red Dog to the recent menacing political drama The Correspondent. The same can be said of Condon, author of a biography of Terry Lewis, a former Queensland commissioner of police under Bjelke-Petersen who was jailed for corruption. If the doco has insufficient detail on how Joh and his supporters were able to maintain a rigged state electoral system to stay in power, it is completely clear about the culture of police corruption that had taken hold in Queensland. Joh was never found legally responsible for the rot, but it's hard to accept that he was unaware of it and didn't manipulate it for his own purposes. As someone observes, Joh's concept of democracy was that he'd been voted for, so he could do what he wished. Sounds familiar.
