Bert Kelly, The Bulletin, May 8, 1984, p. 120.
Two weeks ago I began a series of articles dealing with some of our more highly protected industries. I mentioned two headings which will occur frequently when we get down to examining particular industries in detail. The first is: “The exporter pays for high home consumption prices as he does for tariffs.” The second: “It is not what you know; it is whom you know.”
This week, we shall select three similar headings. The first is long-winded: “Familiarity with the processes by which public policies and sausages are formed destroys the appetite for both.” You will agree that it is too good not to be given a prominent place.
As I have been through both the parliamentary and ministerial mangle, I have had a grand opportunity to know the shallowness of the examination to which most political policies on agriculture are subjected.
Party committees are warned than an election is looming and are urged to earnest, even frantic endeavour in order to have some goodies ready to spread before the electorate when the election trumpets blow.
My phrase, “At each election, I feel a dam coming on,” is a sample of our problem, but it is not only dams I feel coming on. Before each election I sit quivering with fear that yet another half-baked closer settlement scheme is just around the corner or perhaps some great plan to encourage young people to buy farms, thus discouraging older farmers. Or someone might be preparing to parade a monster such as the WA Lamb Marketing Board. One or more of these might be festering through the political gestation system. So remember the similarity between public policy and sausages.
The next heading is: “Remember the bucket of champagne.” This is shorthand for a longer sentence: “Any government servant who can foretell correctly the supply and demand situation for any product one year ahead, let alone five, is not for long working for the government: he is soon sitting in the south of France with his feet in a bucket of champagne.”
Farmers are cynical in their regard for bureaucrats when talking off the record among themselves, but as soon as you gather farmers in a meeting they tend to endow bureaucrats with wisdom which the latter would never presume to process.
My neighbours watched me closely when I became an MP — knowing that I was now moving among the wise, the good and the great. When I bought store cattle, so did they.
One reason why farmers are so quick to ask the government to tell them what to grow is because they are cunning at heart. They know that, even if the government’s advice is correct — as it must be sometimes — about a third of them will make a mess of doing what the government told them to do and then they will be able to blame their failure on the government.
“You told us to grow barley instead of oats,” they will complain. “Now you must look after us. Surely we are entitled to the cost of producing what you told us to grow.”
Governments should be careful about what advice they give farmers and farmers should think carefully before taking it.
Another reason why farmers should hesitate before taking government advice is the constant risk that too many other people also will take it.
Fred may not have a degree in agricultural economics or political science, but I would have been a lot richer had I listened to his advice. “When everyone runs, you walk, Bert, my boy. But you go off like blazes when they walk.” So, if the government had a tree-pull scheme for peaches, Fred’s first reaction would be to plant peaches. He left school in 1929 and was urged by the government then to grow more wheat. He has taken a jaundiced view of government advice ever since.
The third heading is: “Ministers would generally be better in bed.”
I can remember an Outlook Conference when Ian Sinclair was Minister for Primary Industry and we faced one of the intermittent crises to which Australian farming is heir. I forget which group it was that was in trouble, but Sinclair pressed the panic button and unveiled some half-baked scheme to rescue it. Sinclair is no fool and he must have known that his Band-Aid measures were perhaps weak, but, when I slung off at him, he replied: “It is all very well for you to be so superior, but what would you do if you were in my place?”
I said: “I’d go overseas and stay there for two years. When I returned the problem would have gone away.”
Most of the panic measures which governments take would be better not taken. Ministers generally would be better home in bed.
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