A Modest Farmer [Bert Kelly], “Protectionist parade to the Vale of Popularity,” The Australian Financial Review, November 16, 1979, p. 11. Reprinted in Economics Made Easy (Adelaide: Brolga Books, 1982), pp. 183-85, as “The Protection Procession.”

I don’t think I would like to be in Parliament these days. When I was there I used to know where we were going and all I needed was leadership. But I don’t think that I would be happy now because I wouldn’t be certain who was leading me or where. Ever since I heard Mr Thompson, the Labor M.P. from N.S.W., proclaim in ringing tones that the Labor Party, led by the great statesman, Mr Lionel Bowen, the Deputy Leader of the Opposition, had reverted to their old tariff policy of giving all industries protection to suit their needs and to hell with the advice from the academics, I keep having a nightmare about where everyone is going and which leader I would have to follow if I were still in Parliament.

In my dream I see a procession of the good and great. In front is the spokesman for the textile industries beating a big drum. Then come the real leaders of the procession, Mr Fraser hand in hand with Mr Bowen, both carrying placards bearing the message, “To each industry according to its need.” They stride off confidently for a few chains and then they have to stop to explain things to their followers. “Where are we going?” someone will ask. “To the Vale of Popularity,” one of the followers will cheer loudly as they can hear the rumble of an approaching election.

Then off the procession moves again, with the two leaders still holding hands. Bill Hayden will follow close behind, looking a little puzzled and glancing over his shoulder every now and again to see if Mr Hawke cometh. And, like a schoolboy kicking a can as he goes reluctantly to school, Bill kicks along the halo that he won with his economics degree.

Then comes Mr Peacock, carrying the Harries report and thumbing through his notes on the Menzies Oration, and wearing his most dazzling smile. At his side is Senator Sim, frequently plucking at his sleeve to tell him that everyone is going the wrong way. “I know that,” Andrew replies, “but I like being Minister for Foreign Affairs.”

Then comes poor Chris Hurford, worried because he once thought that he was the shadow minister for tariffs but no one has asked for his opinion for ages. As he mooches along he tries to forget that he too has an academic degree. If he sees a fence in the distance, he gets really concerned because he knows he will have to make up his mind soon which is the safest side of the fence to travel.

Then comes Phil Lynch, trying to remember which side of the protection fence he is at the moment. He knows that he was a high protectionist once but he things he has a different opinion now. Sometimes he drops behind and then has to trot to catch up, this is not easy because he is carrying the Vernon (2 vols.), Jackson (4 vols.) and Crawford reports and the White Paper also.

Following comes the Labor spokesman for the rural industries, Senator Walsh. He is wearing a black scowl because he knows that Mr Bowen’s policies will ensure that the Labor Party will not have a hope in hell of winning any rural seats at the next election and then everyone will blame him.

He is followed by the Country Party, all beautifully in line and in step. If you ask them where they are going, they say out of the side of their mouths, that they don’t know but, by gad Sir, they are going there in good order. “Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die” and that kind of thing. Every now and again one of their leaders will break away from the procession and disappear into the crowd, rattling a collection tin for some worthy foundation or other.

Next the Member for Berowra, the chairman of the government committee that deals with tariffs. He carries his old professor’s toga in his brief case and wears a worried frown. He knows better than most that everyone is headed in the wrong direction but he doesn’t like to say so because, well, dash it all, if a chap leaves a lovely ivory tower in a university for a rough political life, then surely he will be rewarded with a ministry soon.

Well in the rear but rapidly catching up, comes Mr Hawke. He looks as cross as usual and he carries a copy of the Jackson Report of which he was one of the authors. He frowns because he has a hazy recollection that there were a lot of things in that document that do not square with the Bowen doctrine. He knows that he has a battle on his hands with the Labor Party policy on uranium and he can’t help thinking that another fight about tariffs will complicate his life unnecessarily. So every now and again he gives a toot on his trumpet, and, when he does that, those ahead break into an uneasy trot. I hope they know where they are going.