In 1977 in The Bulletin was the following interesting exchange, presented here in reverse chronological order:

Peter Sawyer, “Progress Party replies,”
The Bulletin, June 11, 1977, p. 8, as a letter to the editor.

One expects a few ripples when a political party fragments. However, I did not believe that I would ever see Dr John Whiting break into print with such acrimony.

Let me make it clear that the basic reason for the change from the Workers’ Party to the Progress Party in Queensland, Northern Territory, Western Australia and New South Wales was the restrictive effect of the constitution of the original party as applied by Dr Whiting.

This had the effect that even the name could not be altered without, in effect, launching a wholly new party. Which is what happened.

It was certainly John Singleton who identified the problems of the name of the Workers’ Party; primarily that it doesn’t matter what you call a political party unless the name actively militates against the party. Which the name “the Workers’ Party” did — because despite what Dr Whiting might believe, voters en masse do not think about such subtleties.

But the instigation for the change of party came from the members through their branches and John Singleton agreed with the reasons, and the change.

Dr Whiting maintains the Workers’ Party continues in all States. Odd then, that in NSW where both John Singleton and Bob Howard resigned from the board of directors, the State assembly and all branches have become the Progress Party; the Progress Party has taken over — with the agreement of the Workers’ Party, their offices, staff etc.

While Dr Whiting can sit in Adelaide — which is obviously even more remote from reality than Canberra — and still think that the Workers’ Party name is correct, and that demonstrations and law-breaking is the way to make a political point, he may be interested to know that the Progress Party has a new purpose and new vitality. And that John Singleton is an active member and supporter of it.

PETER SAWYER
member of the executive,
Progress Party of New South Wales
Paddington NSW

-=-=-=-=-=

John Whiting, “Still Workers Party,”
The Bulletin, May 14, 1977, pp. 6-9, as a letter to the editor.

Now that John Singleton has changed his name by deed poll as he thought that his birth name had a rather stupid ring about it, I was surprised to find him using his old name when writing an article entitled “The $100-a-plate sleepathon” (The Bulletin, April 23 [republished below]).

Of course, that stuff about John Singleton’s name is all a bit of baloney but who cares about truth and accuracy these days?

If John Singleton can play things off the top of his head when referring to the name of a political party, why shouldn’t I do the same when referring to his name?

It may be recalled that John Singleton told us that the name “Workers Party” is a stupid name and for this reason it has now been changed. Is it? Has it?

The truth is that the Workers Party has not changed its name except in Mr Singleton’s rather vivid imagination. Admittedly there are various State Progress Parties but, as parties, these are distinct from the Workers Party.

Incidentally, the name “Workers Party” is a very accurate one, for whether people have yet woken up to it or not, a free society with true free enterprise is one in the best interests of all workers.

By the way, Mr Singleton is no longer the chairman or a spokesman of the Workers Party.

JOHN WHITING
National president, Workers Party, Adelaide SA

-=-=-=-=-=

John Singleton, “The $100-a-plate sleepathon,”
The Bulletin, April 23, 1977, p. 14.

It is your typical Liberal Party do. The ladies are nice and charming with cheeks full of too many scones and hair full of too much blue rinse. There aren’t too many ladies either, due to the fact that most of the men are about 100 years old.

Another good way to tell that it is a Liberal Party do is that it costs $100 a plate to get in, it’s at the Wentworth instead of Paddo Town Hall, and you get served second-rate champagne instead of flat beer in peanut butter glasses.

Everyone stands around uncomfortably talking nonsense about how well Malcolm looks despite all the worries he has, etc, etc. You can imagine the rest. Thanks God we’ve got rid of Gough, etc.

And naturally, every second person also asks me why I got mixed up with the Workers Party and what a stupid name it is anyway. Which is right about being a stupid name and at least it’s changed now, and anyway on with the show.

The microphone tells us to be seated and away we go. Our host, Sir Kenneth Anderson, and his wife, who shake our hands on the way in (you have to go queue up, otherwise you might miss out), gets up and says welcome and stand up here he comes in person, and now sit down. I am sitting at a place where I can very clearly see that Sir Kenneth Anderson has copped his knighthood for loyalty to 12-inch peg trousers and services to virtual incoherence.

He mumbles a bit of a Scottish joke, which no one laughs at, then he sits down and we get stuck into your typical Liberal Party tucker. Smoked salmon. Those soups without any meat or vegetables in them. Very classy and very tasteless. And then a bit of fillet steak with bacon wrapped around it, and vegetables tossed all over it, and the whole boring mess is all typed up on a very Liberal-looking menu with the Prime Minister’s name written all over it, so that all the people can take it home and leave it to their grandchildren who will not have long to wait, if you want my opinion.

Someone proposes a toast to the Queen, just like at a country wedding, so that everyone who has already been smoking may now smoke, which is par for the course.

Then comes the greatest moment, and Sir Kenneth mutters the intro and the Prime Minister his very self walks up to the mike, which is thoughtfully made higher for the occasion. If ever the scene was set for the Prime Minister to inspire anyone, this is it. There he is with his people. He can say anything and they will go mad with enthusiasm. Anything.

He doesn’t get around to saying anything at all. Nothing. Big Malcolm shuffles his feet a lot, and that is about that. He apologises for Tammie not being here, because she is smashing a bottle of champagne over some boat in Hamburg which should fix all our economic problems once and for all.

He says things might be crook, but they were even worse under Gough, and someone says “Hear, hear,” and this sort of catches on and a lot of people start saying “Hear, hear,” for a while. He says that the CPI is made up of nonsense statistics because they make him look bad, and other statistics are good because they make him look better, if not good.

He says that it is about time for all the new union rules because there have to be laws for everyone. He does not mention that the new industrial laws are just as useless as the present lot, because no one will be game to enforce them; just as no one has ever been game since Ben Chifley and Doc Evatt in 1949.

By this time, at a conservative estimate, a third of the audience is asleep and two thirds wish they were asleep. I am not certain into which category the Prime Minister falls, but I suspect he is talking in his sleep nevertheless. He cracks a joke and one person laughs, whom the Prime Minister thanks, and no one laughs.

Just to round off the excitement the Prime Minister goes into a lot of boring stuff about how the word “communist” actually exists. And how the referendums are essential if ever we are going to have constitutional change and the reason that he has gone against simultaneous elections for Lower (than what?) and Upper Houses in the past, is that everyone knows that the public are mugs and will get confused so he says “No” before; but this time he is saying “Yes” because that way the public (remembering again how dumb we are) will not get confused the way the public do.

And then in the middle of a sentence — as far as I can tell — he finishes. A few people clap and this wakes up some of the other people who also clap. It is not deafening. I think I hear a pin drop but I might be wrong.

This is our leader in action, stirring up his troops for the battle. He might be tall enough, he might be well-bred enough, and he might even have his heart in the right place. God knows, he may even be doing his best.

But if the Prime Minister can’t keep more than a third of his own family awake with a bit of a chat after dinner, how can we expect this man to wake the rest of Australia up? Then I look around the room and wonder if it matters anyway.

There they are. Most of the leaders of Australian industry. Mostly gone to Gowings. Almost entirely ancient history department. Maybe Fraser really is the best they’ve got. Let us pray.