Richard Butler has demonstrated a valuable lesson

Every politician and aspiring governor in the country should raise a vote of thanks to Tasmania's outgoing viceroy, Richard Butler.

Why? Because the whole sorry saga, from go, on October 3 last year, to woe just this week provides a textbook case study on what not do when making appointments to or acting in the position of governor.

For Australia's premiers the message is clear: just as James Carville wrote "it's the economy, stupid" on a big banner in Bill Clinton's office, so should every chief of staff hoist a banner in the boss's office that reads:

There are no votes in vice-regal appointments.

(The prime minister's minders can relax; he learned this lesson over Peter Hollingworth.)

No doubt, past Tasmanian premier Jim Bacon must have felt bullet-proof when he made the Butler appointment; his Labor government led the Liberals 2:1 in the polls and his personal popularity rating was sky-high. He seemingly could do no wrong in the public's eye - did it go to his head?

On conventional wisdom, Butler's CV should have made him ineligible for the job, not given it to him. Not only was he an avowed republican, but he was also a declared Labor man, no less than a staffer to Gough Whitlam. He had a reputation for being outspoken, just the sort of thing governors generally, and Tasmanian governors in particular, are not.

If Bacon appointed Butler to give the office a shake, then even he could not have foreseen the complete mess to come. That mess is now well reported in the national and international press. Readers who want a local perspective could check out these three items from the Hobart Mercury on 10 August, the day after Butler's resignation:

1. "Butler quits after tense talks"
2. "Three hours plus and the rain pelting down"
3. "Impressive career in diplomatic service"

Butler quickly became an embarrassment and the political wisdom of the appointment was soon under scrutiny. Tragically Jim Bacon died earlier this year, but the rumours are strong that he confided to friends that his one main regret in office was this vice-regal appointment. Like all the rumours surrounding Richard Butler – and we are in rumour over-load on this, believe me – it may not be true, but there is no doubt that Butler was political pain, not political gain, for Labor.

And as the months passed, the pain just kept getting worse. It was left to Bacon's successor, Paul Lennon, to clear up the mess. It cost him, or the taxpayer more accurately and depending on the Auditor-General's  findings, $650,000 to see the back of Butler but as one academic commentator put it, it was "money well spent".

In politics sometimes you have to take short-term pain to avert long-term disaster. That is what Lennon did and, from a political strategy point of view, it was the right decision.

So all premiers, before tempted by high opinion polls or personal folly, hoist that banner and repeat three times before going to bed: there are no votes in vice-regal appointments.

For governor newbies there are two key lessons to learn.

First, have some notion of the job description before starting work. One problem for Richard Butler was that he was encouraged by Jim Bacon to behave unconventionally, but the parameters for that behaviour were never spelt out for him.

Butler, naively, thought he had some sort of carte blanche to be a reformist governor, but reform to what?

No wonder governors tend to be retired judges or generals as these already have a notion of what the job entails. But other states have managed to "modernise" the role by appointing sports personalities, for example, so it clearly can be done.

Whoever you settle on, the key is to make sure your governor knows what is expected from the start.

Second, understand your audience. Have the wit to take into account the sensibilities of the community into which you are thrust. It is hard to imagine that Butler, one would expect so familiar with public relations and the media, could make such a basic mistake. But he did, and in a big way.

He failed to understand how an outsider might be perceived in this smallest and most parochial Australian state. It was more than not being popular, he was seen by many as taking the locals for a ride, and there is no way in small-town Tasmania that a public figure could get away with that.

Tasmanians, although probably finding the post rather archaic - almost quaint - are prepared to form a personal attachment to the individual in vice-regal office. This familiarity means that authority figures like politicians and governors have always been accessible here.

Richard Butler should have taken the time, and had the manners, to read the prevailing public sentiment more astutely. How could he come to a small conservative community - as a republican, a Labor appointment, a high-profile, outspoken commentator - and not expect the locals to put him under the microscope?

This is not to defend the petty minds and gossips in Tasmania - which frustrate all of us who live here at times - but rather to make the point that this is reality in a small and insular community.

Of course Butler blames a media "campaign" but this is stretching things too far; Murdoch's Hobart Mercury may have fanned the flames but it is Butler who lit the fire, again and again.

This story is a long way from being over. Commentators will debate for months to come whether Butler was fairly treated, whether he deserves his payout, whether he was pushed to resign, whether he was a victim of a media campaign, how small-minded we Tasmanians are, what the political fallout might be - not to mention the consequences for the monarchist versus republican debate.

Readers will have no shortage of column centimeters to help them form opinions on the above. But none of these issues, as important as they are, can detract from the basic political lesson for premiers and viceroys, which probably can be distilled down to this: once the blood is in the water it doesn't matter whether you are right or wrong, you're dead either way.