Political:

The Flagging Republic

The final day of the first week of the Constitutional Convention was marked by a struggle over flags. In one of the closest votes of the convention so far, the motion of the wheelchair-bound Adam Johnston that the Australian National Flag be enshrined within the Constitution was defeated by 68 votes to 65.

The surprising thing is that it received any votes at all. The way that it was framed, that the Flag Acts be incorporated into the constitution, was a nonsense and revealed Adam's lack of constitutional nous. It should have been withdrawn once constitutional lawyers George Winterton and Greg Craven pointed out its fatal flaws, but it remained to be voted on. Perhaps if it had been better put it might have got up, but as it was it revealed an unexpected amount of support for the current flag, and by implication, the monarchy.

The flag of Malcolm Turnbull's Australian Republican Movement was flying high at the beginning of the convention, but by week's end it was hanging limply at half-mast, a little tattered and stained, but still being hyped unflaggingly. In contrast, the banner of the independent "Elect the President" republicans was snapping bravely in the winds of change, hoisted aloft by Queenslander Clem Jones and Paul Tully.

The danger of the early days of the convention was that a strong bloc would dig in, refuse to compromise with any other group on a preferred republican model, and thereby prevent the emergence of a consensus, or "a clear view" as John Howard put it on that bright Monday morning so long ago. If such a deadlock occurred, then an indicative plebiscite would be put to the people, asking them to choose between several different models, including the status quo.

This would be a disaster for the republicans, as with around half of the population favouring no change to our present arrangements, the monarchists would win against any one of the various models. Malcolm Turnbull must have viewed the prospect with some horror, as the direct election model would undoubtedly gain more support than his two-thirds Parliamentary election model.

So compromise was the name of the game, and the "corridors of power" outside the Chamber itself have been full of delegates buttonholing each other, grouping, ungrouping, voting, writing and accumulating an ever-growing sheaf of media releases, speeches, models, resolutions, reports, notices, and minutes.

As the minutes stretched into hours, and even Bruce Ruxton grew suspicious of the continued absence of the republicans in the old Representatives chamber, I wondered whether they were actually plotting, or maybe catching some badly-needed kip in their offices.

A bit of both, probably. At lunchtime Kings Hall was alive with delegates, cameramen, officials, onlookers and journalists loitering in the best Gallery tradition. As I waited for Sir David Smith to finish talking to his third journo in a row, I drank it all in. A heady atmosphere of tradition, bustle, power and glory.

He was ecstatic when he finally drew himself away. This was how it was in the old days, he told me, mentioning a time when I was still in nappies. This was the old House come alive, and if it had been his normal Friday stint as a volunteer guide, he would have been all but alone in Kings Hall, perhaps describing the history of the place to a sparse group of tourists.

It must have brought back memories to many of the old timers. Gareth Evans, schmoozing to a group of fawning journalists, suddenly realized that the media lounge in which he was sitting was his old office as Minister for Transport and Communications, the position he had held when Parliament moved up the hill. "It's changed a bit, though." he mused as he looked around. Stripped of historic furniture, recarpeted and repainted, of course it was different.

Different, and yet somehow the same. The same close proximity of media and ministers. The same ghosts of politicians past -- two actors assumed the roles of Henry Parkes and Alfred Deakin in the old Senate Chamber, much to the delight of the onlookers. The same faces in some cases. Gough Whitlam had been in the gallery on Monday, and David Smith himself had read out the proclamation dissolving Parliament, on the steps outside.

Sir David was keeping his cards close to his chest and not about to reveal the monarchist strategy to a very junior journo. But ACM star, Kerry Jones, had revealed all earlier. They were going to vote against each republican proposal as it came up, and the speculation that they might vote for the model easiest to defeat at a referendum in order to "train-wreck" the convention, was just that.

Compromise was not mentioned, though the ARM was busy throwing out sops to attract their support. Perhaps the name "Commonwealth of Australia" could be retained. Possibly the Head of State could remain known as the Governor-General. Perhaps God, but not the Queen could remain in the preamble.

Perhaps dismissal of the Governor-General could be by the McGarvie Model. Offers were on the table every few minutes, all day long. A few bites, but until Malcolm Turnbull started calling press conferences to trumpet his triumph, I wasn't expecting any success for him.

But the sops thrown to the rabid republican fringe were snapped up. The politicking was paying off, and at a press conference, my boyhood hero Clem Jones announced that they would be rejecting the "train-wreck" scenario and seeking to find consensus.

The precise model is yet to be announced, but you may be sure that there is a leak somewhere amongst this crowd of amateur politicians, and that the weekend will be spent by the monarchists on researching the model, and the week ahead devoted to exposing the flaws.

The day itself was devoted to consequential trivia. If Australia became a republic, what other elements would have to change, or could change? A rewrite of the preamble to the Constitution was high on the agenda of some, and many and varied were the things they wanted to cram in. Recognition of indigenous Australians. A bigger role for God. A bill of rights. The national flag. A list of motherhood statements...

A multitude of speakers spoke on their favourite topics, and steadily hauled up their own flags whilst rubbishing those of others. Sometimes two spoke at once, as when the irrepressible Bruce Ruxton and the feisty Pat O'Shane found themselves with microphones in their hands at the same time. "You crude old man!" Pat spat, and I tended to agree with her.

But speaking of indigenous recognition... Neville Bonner and a couple of whitey mates were planning to put Aboriginal Australians and Torres Strait Islanders into the preamble. They were pretty positive about the genuine goodwil encountered amongst the delegates, but they wouldn't hear the bad comments, the misgivings, would they? I asked them whether they were preferred for the criticism by people out in the wider world, such as oh, (I picked a name of the top of my head) Pauline Hanson. I got a couple of platitudes in return.

Out in the wider world, away from the goldfish bowl here where votes are not private and rats may be identified, the public gets a secret ballot, and they get a sight longer than ten days to debate the issues before casting their vote in a referendum.

So far I've seen no republican model that can pass all of the several tests.

First, any model must obtain consensus at the convention. A difficult, but not impossible ask. If all of the constitutional lawyers, the State politicians and the monarchists are put together, you still end up well short of a majority. Secondly, it must endure the public scrutiny once the cat is out of the bag, the pig out of the poke. Holes are going to poked in it from the moment it pokes its head out into the open.

Thirdly, it must satisfy the politicians at both State and Federal level. Is John Howard, confirmed monarchist, likely to put public (or party) money into supporting a republic? Are all of the six State Premiers and two Territory Chief Ministers going to agree?

Once the model is out in the open, its precise flaws are going to be exposed and attacked. Not only that, but the same pressures which divided the republicans during the first week of the convention are going to come into play in the wider community, and people wanting (say) a direct election are going to attack a minimalist republic, and vice versa.

(As one wag put it, when describing a bus driver who promised to lower the price of beer if he became President, "This is the middie model")

Lastly, the republican model will be put to the people at a referendum, at a time chosen by the Prime Minister. The result is entirely predictable. It will fail. A few minor clauses may be altered, such as the Queen's notional power to disallow Australian legislation, but anything that is not both crystal clear and of genuine benefit will fail.

Turnbull talks of conventions every seven years. He may well need the time to get his story straight for a second go. And the media will look forward to another stint in this historic House.

But the convention's first week ended in a triumph. The first two resolutions, that our country retain the name "Commonwealth of Australia" and that we remain a member of the British Commonwealth, passed unanimously! "Are there any dissenters?" asked Ian Sinclair, disbelief in his voice.

There were none. The chamber erupted into spontaneous applause. Finally, a victory!

That, coupled with the strong vote for the flag, this represented a very positive affirmation of faith in the status quo seemed to go unnoticed by the republicans.

I suppose, in the end, we'll run the republic flag up the referendum pole and see who salutes.