CHAPTER 22

How to fix our federation

Carolyn Holbrook

Federation – the moment in 1901 when Australia became a nation – does not loom large in the public imagination. In all the debate about changing Australia Day, you rarely hear people suggest 1 January, the date that the Commonwealth of Australia was created, as an alternative to 26 January. Research done in the lead-up to the centenary of Federation found that 43 per cent of people were unable to explain what the federation meant.¹

Yet, if nearly half the population did not understand their federal system of government before the COVID-19 pandemic, they would be hard-pressed to maintain their ignorance now.² While previous national crises have boosted the Commonwealth, the pandemic has reminded us that the states still possess significant power in our federal system. Indeed, state governments have achieved a prominence they have rarely enjoyed since the earliest years of the federation. ‘Gladys’ (now former premier), ‘Dan’ and ‘Annastacia’, in particular, have become national figures and the subjects, variously, of idolatry and derision. Western Australia’s Mark McGowan has enjoyed the most conspicuous political success. The ‘rockstar’ premier has charmed the Western Australian public with a mix of humour and competence that even inspired a fan-girling comedian to write a country music song about her ‘knight in shinin’ armour[’s] … hard, hard, hard border’.³

The heightened profile of our federal structure as a result of the pandemic offers an opportunity to revisit the urgent matter of its reform. There is a consensus among politicians and experts that the federation is ‘broken’ and in need of ‘a massive overhaul’.⁴ The main problem with the federation is fiscal; the way that money is raised and spent. Ideally in a federal system, each level of government raises the revenue necessary to fulfil its functions, as defined by the Constitution. This enhances the incentive to govern efficiently and removes the capacity to blame other levels of government for inadequate services or high taxation.⁵ The Australian federation is far from this ideal. We have one of the highest levels of so-called ‘vertical fiscal imbalance’ in the world. While the Commonwealth raises about 80 per cent of tax revenue, the states spend nearly half the outlay of the entire government sector. It is this imbalance that is responsible for disputes over GST allocation each year, and the lack of accountability and blame-shifting about issues such as funding for schools and hospitals.

The federation, like the Constitution itself, has proved notoriously difficult to reform. Only eight of 44 referendums have succeeded since Federation, and most of those successes have related to technical and procedural issues. Whether from caution, ignorance, or our innate suspicion of the political class, when in doubt, we vote ‘No’. Australians’ inclination to vote down any proposed change is so great that politicians have pretty much given up holding referendums. The last successful ones were passed back in 1977, and the most recent were the failed republic and constitutional preamble referendums in 1999. In 2013, Tony Abbott trumpeted a federal reform process, which was subsequently quietly shelved when Malcolm Turnbull succeeded him as prime minister in 2015. Scott Morrison’s National Cabinet was more of a PR exercise than a meaningful reform. The federation is stuck; unfit for purpose, but unable to be reformed. What is to be done?

Before we can prescribe a solution, we need to diagnose the problem. Apathy lies at the heart of our failure to fix the federation. Australians just don’t care enough about the federation – or any aspect of our democratic system, for that matter – to inform themselves about the details of reform proposals. As we shall see, this is a problem with deep historical roots. If policymakers want to fix the federation, first they must make Australians care.

The first Commonwealth Day

Our lack of attachment to the federation can be traced to the decision to establish the new Commonwealth on 1 January 1901. Joseph Chamberlain, the British secretary of state for the colonies, is responsible for the fact that Australia’s birthday falls on New Year’s Day. Chamberlain was ‘captivated of the fitness’ of 1 January 1901, the first day of a new century. Edmund Barton, who would soon become Australia’s first prime minister, agreed that it ‘was a picturesque and appropriate date’.⁶ But there were sceptics. The South Australian premier, Frederick Holder, worried that ‘the national idea would run a risk of being lost sight of ‘if federation coincided with New Year’s Day. He lobbied for the Queen’s proclamation of the Commonwealth to be gazetted on 1 October 1900, so that anniversary could be celebrated as ‘Proclamation Day’.⁷ Holder received the backing of the New South Wales, Victorian and Queensland premiers, though Western Australia’s John Forrest and Tasmania’s Neil Lewis favoured 1 January.⁸ The alternative proposal was conveyed by the South Australian governor to the colonial secretary, but nothing came of it.⁹

While Sydney hosted the official ceremony on 1 January 1901, Federation was celebrated enthusiastically in cities and towns around the new nation. Reports of the first ‘Commonwealth Day’ noted the confluence of the birth of the nation with the dawn of a new century. The date was portentous; it conferred a sense of progress and destiny, which echoed the idealism of the federationists. As the new Commonwealth marked its six-month anniversary on 1 July 1901, Prime Minister Edmund Barton was excited about the prospect of celebrating the one-year milestone in style. Reflecting with satisfaction on the government’s achievements to date, Barton predicted that the celebration would ‘be on a scale to be remembered’. The Age observed ‘an evident determination to make 1st January as great a day in Australia as is 4th July in America’.¹⁰

But Barton’s enthusiasm in July 1901 would be belied by his subsequent inaction. By December, newspapers had begun to note the lack of planning for the Commonwealth’s first anniversary. Barton countered that he had been preoccupied with ‘Commonwealth business’ and had been given no opportunity to make arrangements.¹¹ He also noted that the nation was faced with ‘a certain embarrassment of choice’ in selecting a date for the anniversary: ‘The 1st of January is the anniversary of the actual inauguration, but there are other days, which, like certain sites for the Federal Capital, have equal claims to choice.’¹² Barton listed the alternatives as 1 July – by which he meant 9 July, the anniversary of the date on which Queen Victoria assented to the Constitution bill; 1 May – by which he meant 9 May, the anniversary of the date on which the Commonwealth parliament first sat; and 30 September – actually 19 September – the anniversary of the date on which Queen Victoria’s proclamation of the Constitution Act appeared in the London Gazette. Barton expected that one of those dates would be chosen, but he showed no inclination to do the choosing.

Apart from exchanges of official telegrams, there was no effort to mark the first anniversary of Federation. It was clear that the date of Commonwealth Day worked against its observation. The Daily Telegraph reported that Sydneysiders had enjoyed an ‘ideal holiday’ for the first anniversary of the Commonwealth. The pleasant weather encouraged harbourside picnickers, and crowds thronged to the Randwick races and the Highland Games at the Sydney Cricket Ground. Others kept an eye on the scoreboards about town, posting news of the Ashes test being played in Melbourne. The theatres did big business in the evening. Despite the Daily Telegraph’s headline proclaiming 1 January to be ‘Commonwealth Day’, no formal activities were planned to commemorate the first anniversary of the Commonwealth, and the occasion passed like any other New Year’s Day.¹³

The Sydney Australian Star anointed 1 January as ‘Australia Day: The Birthday of Federation: The First Anniversary’. Its report recalled the inauguration of the Commonwealth as ‘a period of abandoned joyousness to Australian people’, when ‘Sydney was transformed into a wonderland’.¹⁴ Yet, despite the significance of the occasion, the paper thought it was ‘rather notable that there has been no effort to more immediately identify the day with its true significance to Australians’.¹⁵ The Sydney Evening News cut to the chase when it declared that 1 January was ‘out of the running’ for a Federal holiday because it fell on New Year’s Day. This sentiment was echoed by the Sydney Morning Herald, which thought that 1 January ‘could hardly be diverted from its present use to form a federal festival’.¹⁶

The attorney-general, Alfred Deakin, was convinced that 1 January should be observed as Commonwealth Day.¹⁷ But Deakin’s parliamentary colleagues were less certain. The postmaster general, Senator Drake, observed that ‘a great number of persons desire on New Year’s Day to go to sea-side resorts, and that it would not be a convenient day to adopt as Commonwealth Day. It would have no special significance.’¹⁸ Senator Symon favoured 9 July: ‘It would be an excellent time of the year, certainly much better than the 1st of January, for the commemoration of a great historical event.’¹⁹ Senator Stewart, however, could not ‘understand this rushing up and down the calendar for a day on which to celebrate the proclamation of the establishment of the Commonwealth … We cannot, without stultifying ourselves, depart from the 1st of January.’²⁰ Senator Glassey agreed that to substitute 1 January for any ‘other day would rob the celebration of its charm and effect in the minds of a great number of people’.²¹

The Department of Home Affairs faced similar equivocation when it proposed to build a monument in Corowa to commemorate the 1893 conference at which the idea of an elected constitutional convention originated. Labor members evinced the same unsentimental attitude that had characterised their attitude to Federation itself. The Member for Yarra, Frank Tudor, told parliament that such an expenditure could not be justified given the ‘dire distress which exists in the Commonwealth’.²² Some members thought Corowa was no more worthy of commemoration than other places associated with the federal movement. The Free Trade Member for Went-worth, William McMillan, mocked the parochialism that pervaded federal politics when he proposed that the monument ‘should take the form of a wooden Colossus, with one leg planted in Corowa and the other on the other side of the [Murray] river. That would be a very fair settlement of the difficulty …’²³ Needless to say, the proposal did not advance any further.

Federation gets forgotten

The press continued to question the prime minister about commemoration plans as the second anniversary of Federation approached. Barton made clear his reluctance to fix an alternative anniversary to New Year’s Day on the basis that there were already too many public holidays, and to declare another one ‘would seriously hamper business’.²⁴ Nor did Barton propose to take any special steps to mark the milestone: ‘If the people feel inclined to celebrate the anniversary, they can do so without the Government taking the initiative.’²⁵

The depleted prime minister used the post-Christmas period to enjoy some respite at his home in suburban Sydney, while the governor-general, Lord Tennyson, passed a quiet holiday at Marble Hill, South Australia. ‘In the absence of the Governor General’, noted the Age, ‘no official functions were held.’²⁶ The only official recognition of the second anniversary in Melbourne – the temporary seat of the national parliament – was the flying of the Royal Standard and the Union Jack on the flagstaffs at each end of Parliament House in Spring Street. In a telegram to Barton, Tennyson referred to the early trials of the Commonwealth, principally the dissatisfaction of the smaller states at the loss of customs revenue: ‘With patience we will overcome, I have no doubt, all the difficulties necessarily arising at first in our new-born constitution’, he wrote.²⁷ Barton was equally frank in reply: ‘I share your confidence that, like other federations, we shall overcome these early difficulties which arise from the necessary assimilation of conditions hitherto widely diverse.’²⁸

The general air of apathy about the new Commonwealth was remarked upon by a columnist in Victoria’s Numurkah Leader, who contrasted the indifference of 1903 with the enthusiasm of 1901:

He would have been a bold man indeed who in 1901 would have ventured to predict that in two short years the patriotic fervor (we had almost said fever) and imperialistic rejoicings with which the inauguration of the Commonwealth was celebrated would have been practically non-existent.²⁹

The Launceston Examiner contrasted the general indifference to 1 January with attitudes to 4 July in the United States.³⁰ The lack of interest could be explained by the widespread hostility towards Federation, the paper claimed; if the referendum were held again, the population would vote ‘No’. People had been promised that the costs of government would diminish, only to find it had increased. Such increases were not inherent in the federal system, but due to the ‘absence of administrative ability of our rulers’. The prime minister was ‘content to sit at the feet and obey the mandates of the Labor Party, and Mr Kingston’s administration of the Customs duties has been so overbearing that he is in a continual state of turmoil with the importers’. If this ‘federal extravagance’ could be checked, the ‘federal spirit’ would rise, the paper claimed.³¹

After those sparing and fitful attempts to establish 1 January as Commonwealth Day in the first two years after Federation, discussion of the anniversary disappeared from the parliamentary record. There was no effort to establish the alternatives mooted by Barton as the Commonwealth anniversary. In November 1910, the attorney-general, Billy Hughes, was asked in parliament whether the government had taken any steps towards celebrating the tenth anniversary of the Commonwealth. Hughes replied in the negative.³² When he was questioned again a few weeks later, Hughes’ reply echoed the apathy that had characterised the issue from the start: a celebration had ‘not been considered by the Government, but Ministers are willing to consider it, and will be glad to receive any suggestions which the honorable member may have to offer’, he said.³³ No action was taken, and the occasion passed without official acknowledgment.

As politicians argued and equivocated about the Federation anniversary, the Australian Natives’ Association led a campaign to establish 26 January – the anniversary of the date that the First Fleet arrived in Sydney Cove in 1788 – as the national day. By 1935, Australia Day was celebrated over a long weekend in all the states and territories. Australia Day became more prominent in the period following the bicentenary in 1988, and also more controversial. Meanwhile, Commonwealth Day, the date on which Australia became a nation, was completely forgotten. 1 January reverted to what it had always been: New Year’s Day.

The disappearance of Commonwealth Day from the national calendar has had wide-reaching consequences that are still with us today. There is, as historian John Hirst observed, a ‘strange gap’ between the magnitude of Australia’s democratic achievement and our lack of regard for it.³⁴ By failing to commemorate Federation, our political leaders did not place the keystone in the arch of our civic history. We lost the opportunity to develop a strong attachment to our Constitution and democratic system of government; the kind of attachment that might prompt us to engage with matters of federation reform.

Lessons from Anzac commemoration

It is not too late to ignite public interest in Australian democracy. The success of recent governments in promoting popular attachment to the Anzac legend provides a useful case study in how national mythologies can be bolstered by determined political leadership. The Anzac legend provided Australia with the genesis mythology that Federation failed to do. According to the legend, the nation was born on the shores of Gallipoli during the First World War. The popularity of the Anzac legend has ebbed and flowed since 1915.³⁵ It flourished initially as a symbol of the Anzacs’ fighting skills and their distinctively Australian characteristics – laconic humour, independence of thought and irreverence towards authority. By the late 1950s, the Anzac legend was losing favour as social values changed. As represented in the famous play by Alan Seymour The One Day of the Year, the Anzac legend came to be associated with chauvinism, bigotry and an excessive fondness for beer. The Vietnam War and second wave feminism exacerbated the growing impression that Anzac commemoration was indistinguishable from the glorification of war.

The Anzac legend defied predictions of its imminent demise. During the 1970s and 1980s, an historical interest in the First World War began percolating among descendants of the soldiers, social historians and filmmakers. This kinder and gentler version placed less emphasis on the outdated values of the diggers, and more on their mateship and suffering. By the late 1980s, astute politicians sensed that the tide of public sentiment had turned. Prime Minister Bob Hawke accompanied a group of elderly diggers to Gallipoli for the 75th anniversary of the landing in 1990. The success of this trip ushered in the era of political patronage of Anzac commemoration, wherein the prime minister has been elevated to the position of ‘commemorator-in-chief’.³⁶

While government did not initiate the Anzac revival, it has dedicated massive funding and resources, lubricated by generous applications of rhetoric. Australia far outspent all other nations in commemorating the centenary of the First World War, with a budget of more than $550 million.³⁷ Government profligacy has continued beyond the centenary. The Coalition allocated $498 million in the 2019 budget to the Australian War Memorial for the creation of major new exhibition spaces related to the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.

Lessons from history: Move over Anzac, we need a democratic legend

There is a lesson for policymakers wanting to reform the federation from the government’s billion-dollar Anzac bonanza. Government cannot conjure sentiment where none exists, nor dam a wellspring of popular feeling – witness Paul Keating’s failed attempt in the 1990s to reorient the Anzac legend from Gallipoli to the Pacific. But the vast financial, institutional and rhetorical resources of the state did transform the grassroots revival of interest in the First World War during the 1970s and 1980s into Anzac 2.0, the most potent and pervasive mythology of Australian nationhood. Based on the example of Anzac, it seems likely that, with concerted effort, government could rouse us from our civic indolence with a large-scale and cleverly crafted public education campaign.

There are more lessons to be taken from Anzac. As I have argued in previous work, the popularity of the Anzac legend derives from its capacity to evoke emotion. Anzac commemoration is an experience with many of the characteristics of religious ritual – it is not a rational engagement with the history of the First World War.³⁸ Sceptics will counter that the mythmaker has poorer materials with which to work in the Federation story, that students find the violence and tragedy of the First World War fascinating but are uninspired by the greybeards of Federation.³⁹ And yet, research also suggests that young Australians are eager for more knowledge to enable them to participate in and contribute to civic society.⁴⁰ They need to be shown how their concerns relate to reform of the Constitution.

Our political leaders must build a new civic mythology around the history and concept of Australian democracy. There is enough celebratory grist in our civic history to please even a conservative education minister seeking to renew the culture wars. Australia pioneered government-provided ballot papers and was early to give the vote and right to stand for parliament to (non-Indigenous) women. Unlike other Western democracies, we have preferential voting and make voting compulsory. We vote on Saturdays, not on weekdays like in the United Kingdom and the United States. Australia avoids the election gaming and voter suppression of the United States because our electoral system is overseen by non-partisan bureaucrats.

In the face of the assault on democracy in the United States by Donald Trump and his supporters, culminating in the storming of the Capitol Building on 6 January 2021, the value of Australia’s prosaic democratic rituals has been underlined. A government that wants genuinely to reform the federation needs to finish the work of the founders by sponsoring a mythology of Australian democracy that excites and motivates the Australian public. Government must then think imaginatively about how the often-technical issues raised by Australian federalism can be refracted through the democratic legend, in order to engage and motivate Australians. In her advocacy for federation reform, the constitutional lawyer Cheryl Saunders has argued that it must follow the fault lines of democratic representation. Reform must start, not with bureaucrats and bureaucratic processes, but with ‘the people who give legitimacy to the government and in turn are owed accountability’.⁴¹ It must demonstrate how reform will benefit citizens through better services in health, education, aged care and other vital areas.

In failing to ensure that a civic tradition was tamped into the Australian imagination, the founders did the nation a disservice. They designed a state-of-the-art constitutional house, then forgot to leave the keys. But in carping at Joseph Chamberlain’s failure to troubleshoot 1 January and Barton’s lassitude, we also should remember that they bequeathed a dynamic constitutional structure that they expected future generations to maintain. How can we better fulfil that expectation? Imagine a national government that stops channelling hundreds of millions of dollars into the already bloated Anzac industry but invests instead in building a mythology of Australian democracy. The first Commonwealth elections were held on 29–30 March 1901. Picture a government that picked one of those dates as the new Australia Day and symbolised its commitment to democratic renewal by crowning a new national icon – the democracy sausage, served with onions, tomato sauce and a generous squirt of laconic humour.