by Julia Baird
He was not alone. But he was being harsh. She was clearly hardworking and intelligent. Surely one of the surest signs that Stott Despoja had ‘substance’ — or a clearly enunciated and thought-out philosophical position and agenda for the party — was her stance on the goods and services tax in 1999. She indicated at an early stage that she would not support a GST on books, and stuck to it as her party leader, Meg Lees, negotiated with the government over it. Instead of being interpreted as an act of principle, her resolve was interpreted as a ‘dummy spit’, a babyish tantrum from a young woman unaccustomed to the heat of the political fray. The fact that it ended up being her primary qualification for the leadership, along with her high profile and popularity, shows how skewed that commentary was.
Before the GST legislation had passed, she was isolated by her colleagues for saying the Democrats had ‘no room for compromise’ on the GST, and was warned not to speak on the subject by leader Meg Lees. Then, in the defining moment of her political career, Meg Lees negotiated a compromise with John Howard which enabled the passage of the GST with caveats: it would not apply to fresh food; income tax cuts for high earners would be cut back; diesel fuel excise cuts would be restricted; and almost $1 billion would be put into environmental protection. Stott Despoja declared that she would exercise her right to a conscience vote under the party rules to oppose the GST. Initially she intended to vote against the clauses dealing with books and newspapers — which she called a ‘tax on knowledge’ — but later she decided to vote against the entire package.
According to a senior lecturer in politics at Monash University, Nick Economou, each time the party had done deals with the government instead of keeping the ‘bastards honest’ their vote had plummeted. He believed voters were angry about the GST and did not want to see the Democrats as a mainstream party that did deals with the government of the day. The media monitoring group Rehame found that after the passage of the GST 70 per cent of talkback callers supported Stott Despoja, and less than 3 per cent had anything positive to say about Lees — most were vicious. Rehame’s managing director, Peter Maher, said the Lees GST deal was ‘as big an issue with the public as we’ve ever analysed. Most people think the Democrats let them down.’ People thought Lees compromised too quickly, and could have won more concessions if she had toughed it out. Stott Despoja, meanwhile, came out ‘smelling of roses’, Maher said. ‘I’ve never seen a politician do as well, when her party was being vilified, as Natasha this week.’13
From this point Stott Despoja became a lightning rod for discontented Democrats. Stott Despoja wrote letters insisting she was not petulant, but principled. Cartoonist Alan Moir depicted her from this point on with a dummy in her mouth, sucking vigorously and looking cross — her eyes wide, eyebrows knitted, folding her arms tightly across her chest. He called her ‘Gnashing Despot Spoiler’.14 When I asked him about this, he pointed out he had drawn other Democrats — Andrew Bartlett and Meg Lees — with dummies in their mouths, and that it was a reflection on the party:
AM: The bigger parties . . . crush each other like dinosaurs. The Democrats tend to be so polite about it that in the end when they got angry about something it just sounded like a hissyfit . . . She made a big thing of being the baby of the Senate of course when she came in, so it became an amusing thing, so I put a dummy in her mouth. Just as with a baby, it became a good tool when she became a bit angry about things; I’d have her sucking very hard . . .
JB: Did you think she was too young for the job?
AM: Yeah. Yes, especially when in leadership you have to do deals. Meg Lees was a realist. Cheryl Kernot at her best was good . . .
JB: Why did you think she was too young?
AM: Politics is the art of compromise. She’s still a little bit too idealistic, and not sceptical enough of other politicians.
Journalists soon began to ask if Stott Despoja could withstand the pressure. She was not sure if she would run for her seat again, because she was sick of the scrutiny, personal intrusion and name-calling.15 An article in the Sun-Herald, headed ‘Suicide Blonde: Stott Despoja under pressure over GST — and love life’, reported that Stott Despoja enjoyed the limelight, which she had cultivated, but when it turned into a spotlight, ‘the pleasure turn[ed] sour.’ The journalist’s cynicism about Stott Despoja’s motivations was clear: ‘While her leader, Meg Lees, and fellow Democrats were grappling with the massive tax package 10 days ago, Stott Despoja was preoccupied with herself.’ The list went on: her health was suffering, she was too thin-skinned to be leader, she was hurt by a media backlash, and she was offended by questions about her private life.16 The next day, Stott Despoja fired back, claiming party members were undermining her because of her position on the GST. In an outburst she later regretted, she accused party elders of trying to white-ant her with malicious, vexatious comments. This is what senior journalist Christine Wallace of the Australian says was her great tactical error — letting people know she was sensitive to this criticism:
She allowed herself mentally to be vulnerable to that campaign against her. If she had continued on her merry way generating reams of publicity, getting huge amounts of media space and continuing to be a charismatic and popular Democrats leader, she’d be there today. But she was a little young, not quite seasoned and . . . she allowed herself to be seen to be publicly sensitive to it and respond to it, and once that starts happening things are going to begin to unravel.17
Stott Despoja’s complaints about media intrusion also galled those who had seen her enjoy, and exploit, the media attention. The Australian called her naive and asked her to choose between ‘playing at politics and being in a very tough business. It is essentially a choice between thick skinned participation and no petulance — or no participation at all.’18 Frank Devine told her to get over her ‘spotlight withdrawal pains’ and start ‘filling her pretty head with knowledge and ideas’ on youth unemployment and education.19 The Australian’s Peter Nicholson drew a cartoon which showed Stott Despoja lying on her bed writing in a diary how enemies were spreading rumours she was a ‘political BULIMIC and lightweight . . . I must never trust anyone over 30 — specially now I’m 29¾.’ News Limited columnist Piers Akerman, who reserved a particular brand of vitriol for female politicians, said she had enjoyed too many years ‘of revelling in her role as Princess Leia, the virgin victim of Australian politics’.20
After the passage of the GST legislation, journalists were obsessed with a potential leadership spill, and followed the daily movements of the fractured parliamentary group of Democrats — and an increasingly isolated Stott Despoja — with interest. In late 1999, the Sydney Morning Herald sooled triple Walkley Award-winning investigative journalist Gerard Ryle onto her case. The resulting article, ‘Behind the Party Girl’, which appeared on 8 January 2000, was the first serious, forensic treatment of her public statements and the image she had presented for the media. Ryle found some inconsistencies, and described her as a woman no longer considered the heir apparent to the leadership. He accused her of exaggerating some of the details of her family background to create a story of hardship.21 He mocked the idea that her 30th birthday celebrations were private, arguing that weeks before, details of her search for the right dress had appeared in gossip columns: ‘And in case you missed anything, there were the dress and the woman, three weeks later, spread over two pages of the Australian Women’s Weekly.’
Stott Despoja told me she thought this was ‘the most startling, most appalling piece of journalism about a woman in public life’. She contacted the Herald half an hour after her second interview with Ryle. The Herald’s editor at the time, Paul McGeough, said, ‘There was some communication over this story, but in fairness to her, I don’t think she wanted the story pulled so much as she was troubled by how Ryle might use some information that he had . . . All I can say about the story that was published was that it went through the normal Herald editing process.’ Ryle told me that by the end of his research he had come to the view that she had
manipulated the media, but that he was conducting a legitimate and fairly standard investigation into a public figure:
I understand she blames that article for ruining her career. In truth, I was just the first one to question her . . . I always liked her and still do, but she was not different to other politicians; she had carefully built this image herself. She was a public figure, she had willingly sought publicity, and had been profiled hundreds of times before . . . live by the sword, die by the sword. It wasn’t brilliant; it was just basic journalistic research.
Running for leader: January 2001
In February 2001, after the ACT Democrats called for a leadership ballot, Stott Despoja decided to run. The duel was largely between the left-leaning Democrats and those who wanted a more mainstream party which would negotiate over key legislation and extract concessions. But the focus on appearance was paramount throughout: it was portrayed as a contest between a young, good-looking lightweight and a more substantial but dowdy elder. Lees was given a very hard time. Peter Ruehl described her as having ‘all the charisma of a laxative’.22 Mike Seccombe wrote that Lees had ‘as one commentator cruelly wrote last weekend, “the demeanour of a deputy headmistress you’d be anxious to avoid in the corridor”.’23 While the Advertiser suggested she needed a ‘Hillary Clinton style makeover’, entire articles were written about whether Stott Despoja was ‘more than just a pretty face’. The old Cleo and ‘tattoo’ shots were dragged out of the files yet again.
Both candidates resented the focus on their age. Lees told the Ten Network: ‘I find it very difficult when people say . . . [you’re] past your use-by date because you’re into your 50s.’ She told the Australian that she felt the media were supporting Stott Despoja because she was ‘attractive and youthful’. Sandra Kanck, the Democrats’ deputy leader in South Australia, inflamed the issue when she told ABC Radio that ageing male Democrats were fuelling sexual fantasies by supporting Stott Despoja: ‘She is incredibly attractive, whereas Meg is on the back foot all the time because there’s none of the heavy make-up . . . Women over 50, we are basically told that we ought to, I guess, don a habit and go hide in our homes. There is a resentment from society that we give way to gravity, that our breasts are no longer pert. Our mouths drop and we get crow’s feet around our eyes.’ The headline in the Age read: ‘Claws unsheathed in she-battle’. Lees still believes the competition boiled down to appearance, and Stott Despoja ‘was a lot younger and for many people that was always one of the points of judgement, all these sorts of assessments, that she can do a better job because she is more attractive.’
Most of the major newspapers backed Lees in their editorials as the more credible and effective politician, and portrayed Stott Despoja as a populist weak on policy. But the polls showed Stott Despoja had the lead.24 Seventy per cent of Democrat members voted for Stott Despoja, and she was elected leader on 7 April 2001, with Indigenous senator Aden Ridgeway as her deputy.
The Leader
You once wrote that manipulation of the media by women is [necessary] to get your voices heard. Does that include sex appeal, for example?
— Tony Jones, ‘Lateline’, ABC-TV, 11 March 2001
As leader, the first question fired at Stott Despoja by a local radio station was, ‘So, Nat, has your partner popped the question yet?’ She replied, ‘Just been elected leader of the Australian Democrats; thought we might talk politics.’
The party’s support immediately shot up, at the expense of One Nation, to 7 per cent, according to an ACNielsen Age poll. One in three voters was more likely to support the Democrats.25 Thousands of people started switching on to the Democrats, and the number of party members increased by 80 per cent. But some of the older male commentators were disdainful of the fact that the new leader did not play the game the way it always had been played. The best example of this was an episode of the ABC’s ‘Media Watch’ in April 2001, in which Stuart Littlemore profiled Stott Despoja in a grossly unfair way. He said she was purely a media creation: ‘Here we have a woman of 31 ascended to the leadership of a party wholly and solely on the appeal of her assiduously developed celebrity.’ He scoffed at her suggestion that marijuana was a ‘health and social issue’ and advised her to ‘stay off substance’ as a ‘spokeswoman for the me generation’. He showed clippings of her in Cleo and Who Weekly, and shots of her appearing on various television shows. ‘What is it that a 30-something politician, with a background solely in the Democrats, could possibly have to say?’ he asked. ‘Her policies include tattoos . . .’ he answered, as he cut to the photograph of her at the ARIAs, ‘. . . but not permanent ones; public relationships . . .’ cutting to a paparazzi photograph of her having breakfast at a cafe with her boyfriend, and ‘being seen in all the right places, including the Packer wedding.’ Considering she was snapped firstly while at a party and, secondly, while having a private breakfast, this was quite unfair. The dismissive attitude to magazines like Cleo and Vogue revealed a condescending attitude to what millions of women read for pleasure.
Stott Despoja’s problems as leader stemmed from the fact that she was voted in by a majority of her party members, but was not supported by all of her party colleagues. Meg Lees remained angry about being elbowed aside by an ‘autocratic’ younger colleague, and refused to recognise her leadership. Deputy leader Aden Ridgeway hinted that he believed the party would be better off under Lees’s leadership. Andrew Murray backed Lees, Andrew Bartlett backed Stott Despoja, and the two began to publicly throw punches as the party imploded.
As Stott Despoja struggled to regain control, comments about her age and looks peppered news reports. It became the norm to see snide references to the fact that she was young, blonde and ‘only 32’. The implication was that her alleged ‘inexperience’ (read age) was the root of the Democrats’ problems. Yet with census figures showing 35 was the average age of Australians, 32 was not particularly young. At the age of 30, Gary Punch was minister for arts and territories, and Andrew Peacock was the minister for the army. Michael Lavarch was attorney-general at 31. Joe Hockey was 33 when he was made minister for financial services and regulation. Peter Costello was opposition spokesman on corporate law reform and consumer affairs at 32. Paul Keating was 31, when he was, briefly, minister for Northern Australia, and 32 when he was opposition spokesman on agriculture, minerals and energy. Michael Yabsley was NSW minister for corrective services in 1981, aged 32. John Brogden, the NSW opposition leader, was just a few months older than Stott Despoja. In 2001, ACT MP Roslyn Dundas became the youngest woman to enter any parliament in Australia at the age of 23.
The press gallery, never favourably inclined to the Democrats (most saw them as a distraction from the two major political parties), attacked Stott Despoja when her party fractured, dismissing her as the ‘newly engaged’, the ‘princess of hype’, a ‘drama queen’, a ‘spoiled yuppie’ lacking in life experience but not ‘postfeminist coquetry’ and ambition — someone who was ‘telegenic but inexperienced’ and ‘lacking in political gravitas’, with ‘more style than substance’. Even praise was often patronising: she was ‘an appealing political commodity’ who was ‘perky, pert and progressive’, but ‘for all her charm, missed a chance to clearly state the party’s goals’.26
Cartoon published in The Australian, March 2001. Jon Kudelka
As the party fought, Stott Despoja went to England to meet her seriously ill future father-in-law. The spat escalated when she was gone, and Lees, who went on a trip to central Australia with her daughter, was still being called to account for her behaviour. In what Australian columnist Matt Price believes was the biggest act of political bastardy he had ever witnessed in politics, Lees returned, then resigned from the party before her leader was back in the country. Stott Despoja heard the news while flying over Turkey. Andrew Murray, a Lees supporter, said he was withdrawing to the back bench and becoming a Democrat in exile. Stott Despoja made overtures and issued ultimatums, asking if anyone wanted to challenge her leadership, but it was to no a
vail. On 21 August 2002, four of the seven senators presented her with a ‘ten point plan’ they wanted her to agree to, including making concessions to Lees, and greater accountability for her own staff. To have accepted the demands would have meant abdicating any authority as leader.
Stott Despoja resigned on 21 August, saying she had no option: ‘I don’t have the support of my colleagues in the party room and when it matters.’ She offered support to the next leader the party chose and fronted for a party room meeting later that day.
Stott Despoja’s colleagues were fools. They disobeyed their party’s wishes, ousted her without a back-up plan, then dwindled into insignificance, their profile risible, their impact virtually nil. While they were all slipping around in the mud pit, commentators condemned Stott Despoja at every turn, as they tried to interpret her exercise of power as the lack of it. If she failed to speak, she was weak. If she issued ultimatums, she was accused of an unattractive ‘Tarzan approach’. It’s true she was unable to pull her colleagues into line, because of a lack of professional authority or personal rapport, but she made no major gaffes, no silly comments, no grandstanding postures. She came back from London to try to take control of the brawling, dysfunctional group of Democrats and found herself constantly undermined. As Louise Dodson wrote in the Age, accusations of being autocratic, failing to communicate with colleagues, and having controlling, powerhungry staff were not unique to Stott Despoja.27 And she had her assets as leader — certainly more so than any of the other Democrat senators, who have occupied the leadership position since she resigned without making an impact.