Leader of the gang

Like street gangs, political parties rest on continual barter between leader and led, with parliamentary opinion influenced by conversation in the party room, and regular reminders of broader community sentiment through opinion polls. While the leader may publicly project power and strength, off-camera successful leaders play close attention to the needs and wishes of members of the group.

A leader beholden to the parliamentary party must see colleagues as the first, and essential, audience. All understand the party room will be unsentimental with leaders who are struggling in the court of public opinion. Malcolm Turnbull and Kevin Rudd join a procession that includes Billy Hughes, Robert Menzies, John Gorton, Bill Hayden, John Howard, Andrew Peacock, John Hewson, Alexander Downer, Bob Hawke, Simon Crean and Kim Beazley. All were deposed as leader in their party room at some point in their career.

It would be easy for a leader to lose control, to be overwhelmed by the interests and jealousies that comprise a political party. After all, the gang has no shortage of potential challengers, some with strong claims. The party contains a parliamentary core that will read decisions through the narrow prism of office, and a wider constituency ready to be disappointed. Those in the states and territories, when expeditious, will attack their own in distant Canberra for local advantage. All are ready to demand from – rather than support – the new boss.

Yet the leadership bargain, like all good deals, brings returns to both sides. Members rely on the leader's skill to hold the show together, through forceful advocacy of the ideas that motivate and unify. The careers of backbenchers depend on the party attaining and retaining office. If they destabilise the party too aggressively they risk their own ministerial future and, perhaps, re-election.

Similarly, state governments depend on a favourable relationship with the national leader. Much state largesse relies on commonwealth money, so a vindictive national leader is a threat to a vulnerable state premier. All in the party fear the barrenness of opposition. As Adlai Stevenson quipped, 'power corrupts, but lack of power corrupts absolutely.' A party out of office has no opportunity to achieve its objectives, dispense patronage or enjoy authority. A leader who can deliver victory thus exerts a powerful attraction. The party must gamble on one person who can project the right message and ensure the required party discipline; if the wheel turns it will carry everyone higher. This trade-off, subordinating individual hopes to a greater cause, is the essence of the bargain. The leader does not have to be good or popular, just successful with their parliamentary colleagues. The public gets little say in this calculation; it is a deal between leader and party room.

The point of comparing gangs with politicians is not just to enjoy the unexpected similarities, but to ponder the lessons. In both arenas, leadership requires an order of skills demanded of few others in our community. Joining a street gang is a matter of taste or situation, but encouraging talented people to consider a political career is difficult. The rewards are modest, the grief great and the risks daunting. To rise to the top requires a rare combination of guile and wisdom, judgement and luck. If the timing proves wrong, a talented individual can spend an entire political career mired in the frustration of opposition. No wonder few are called and fewer respond. Yet it matters greatly in our democracy that gifted women and men decide to make a difference through public service. Most will not become leaders, but each deserves encouragement. The quality of our elected representatives will determine, in turn, the quality of our leaders.

Glyn Davis is a professor of political science and

Vice-Chancellor at the University of Melbourne.

Extract from Leader of the Gang, eSingle, www.griffithreview.com and online booksellers, $4.95