The problem with Australian politics is not simply that we disagree about how to govern. It is that we increasingly disagree about what we are trying to become.
By Jason Gay
Australia is a remarkable country. We are prosperous, stable, democratic and, by almost any international measure, extraordinarily fortunate. We have inherited institutions that have served us well, a continent rich in natural resources, and a society that has generally managed to combine individual freedom with a strong sense of fairness and opportunity. Yet beneath these achievements lies a question that Australian politics seems increasingly unable to answer: What exactly are we trying to build?
It is a surprisingly difficult question. Ask Australians what they want from their government and the answers will be familiar. Affordable housing, good healthcare, quality education, secure employment, reliable infrastructure and safe communities. These are reasonable expectations, but they are not a national vision. They describe things we would like our government to provide rather than the sort of country we want Australia to become. There is a significant difference between managing the needs of a nation and determining its direction.
For much of Australia’s modern history, our political system operated within a reasonably consistent set of national assumptions. The major political traditions certainly disagreed, sometimes bitterly, about the role of government, the economy, industrial relations and the distribution of wealth. However, there was often substantial agreement about the broad direction of the country. Australia was to be developed, its population was to grow, its institutions were to mature, its economy was to strengthen, and successive generations were to enjoy greater opportunities than those before them. Labor and the Coalition frequently differed over the means, but the destination was often recognisable to both.
Of course, that shared vision was never universal, nor was it always right. Some of the national assumptions that once united Australia’s political establishment also sustained policies we now rightly reject. The exclusion of Indigenous Australians from political and economic power, and the discriminatory immigration policies of the twentieth century, remind us that political consensus is not necessarily a moral achievement. A nation can agree on a destination and still choose the wrong one. The lesson of history is not that we should return to the past, but that a common national purpose is powerful enough to shape generations, for better or worse.
The Australia we inhabit today is very different from the country that emerged at Federation. We are more diverse, more connected to the world, more economically sophisticated and, in many respects, more socially inclusive. Our national identity has changed, as it should. Yet it is far less clear whether we have developed a new shared understanding of where we are heading.
This, I suspect, is at the heart of much of our political frustration.
Our political disagreements increasingly extend beyond how particular outcomes should be achieved. We disagree about the outcomes themselves. What should immigration ultimately achieve? What does a fair society look like? How large should our cities become? What role should government play in shaping economic life? What responsibilities do Australians have to one another? What should we preserve from our history, and what should we change? These questions cannot be settled by a better budget, a more efficient public service or another election campaign. They concern the identity and purpose of the nation itself.
This helps explain why Australian politics can feel so polarised. When people share a destination, they can disagree about the best road to take without necessarily treating one another as enemies. One person might prefer a greater role for government, another might place greater confidence in markets and individual initiative. Both can evaluate their proposals against a broadly agreed objective. But when the destination itself is disputed, every policy becomes a contest over the future character of the country. Compromise becomes more difficult because concessions no longer feel merely practical. They can feel like surrendering something fundamental.
Our political institutions are not particularly well equipped to resolve this problem. Governments operate within electoral cycles, and political parties are understandably concerned with winning the next election. Their attention is drawn towards immediate pressures, public opinion, media controversy and the policies most likely to influence marginal seats. Long-term planning exists, of course, but it is frequently subordinated to shorter-term political considerations. An initiative that might produce enormous benefits in thirty years can be difficult to defend when its costs must be carried today and its rewards may be claimed by a future government.
Without a clear national destination, this tendency becomes even more pronounced. Governments announce policies, oppositions promise alternatives, and successive administrations adjust or reverse the decisions of their predecessors. We become very good at debating individual measures without considering whether they contribute to a coherent national project. Housing policy becomes a discussion about prices and supply targets rather than the communities we want Australians to inhabit. Education becomes a debate about funding and performance rather than the kind of citizens we hope to develop. Immigration becomes an argument about annual numbers rather than how a growing population fits within Australia’s long-term future.
None of these immediate questions is unimportant. Quite the opposite. But they are questions that should be answered within a larger vision rather than treated as isolated political problems.
Consider how differently we might approach national decisions if we began by asking what Australia should look like in 2050, or even 2100. How many people do we want living here? Where should they live? What industries should sustain our prosperity? What degree of economic independence should we seek? What responsibilities should exist between generations? What should it mean to be Australian in a society of many cultures and backgrounds? These are not questions for a single political party to answer. They are questions for a nation.
There is an obvious objection to this argument. In a free and democratic society, people will naturally hold different visions of the good life. Attempts to impose a single national vision can become authoritarian, exclusionary or hostile to legitimate differences. This concern should be taken seriously. Australia should never seek a national identity so narrow that citizens must abandon their convictions, cultures or aspirations to belong.
But a shared national direction need not require uniformity. We do not need to agree on everything to agree on something. We can recognise individual freedom while accepting mutual responsibility. We can celebrate cultural diversity while identifying common civic commitments. We can disagree about the size and role of government while agreeing that our institutions should be stable, accountable and worthy of public trust. The purpose of a national vision should not be to eliminate disagreement, but to provide a common framework within which disagreement can be productive.
Perhaps the greatest danger is not that Australia will choose the wrong destination, but that we will cease trying to choose one at all. A country without an articulated purpose does not remain stationary. It continues to change, shaped by economic pressures, international circumstances, demographic trends, political incentives and countless decisions made independently of one another. In the absence of intentional direction, the future becomes something that happens to us rather than something we seek to build.
Australia is approaching questions that will shape the lives of generations not yet born. The way we respond will determine far more than which party forms government at the next election. It will influence the character of our communities, the strength of our institutions, the sustainability of our prosperity and the opportunities available to our children and grandchildren.
The purpose of this series is not to prescribe a finished vision for Australia. It is to begin asking the questions from which such a vision might emerge. What should we value? What should we build? What should we protect? What should we be willing to change? And what obligations do we carry towards those who will inherit the country after us?
For too long, Australian political debate has concentrated on who should be in charge and what they should do next. These are necessary questions in a democracy, but they are not sufficient.
Before we argue about who should steer the ship, perhaps it is time we agreed on where we want it to go.
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