Newman: The good, the ugly and the toy duck
CAMPBELL Newman was a master at sharpening your political radar. He may have painted himself as a political outsider, but he has excellent instincts.
Those who didn’t agree with his time as Premier would of course dispute that, and I suppose from the outside, some of his decisions could appear more often tempestuous than calculated.
In my view, those bad decisions occurred when he allowed his temper, or in some cases the views of others, to override his own sound political judgment.
When he followed his gut, he rarely got it wrong.
Newman made an art form out of “riding people” to get
110 per cent of your efforts and ensure he got the outcome he wanted. He would drill you relentlessly with “So What?” questions.
For example, you would tell him your view was that the council should take a particular policy position on this or that. He would ask you “So what will the Labor councillor’s position be in
Federal MP Julian Simmonds has given a candid insight into working closely with Campbell Newman as both a Brisbane City Council adviser and later as an elected councillor, in a new book Yes Lord Mayor, which he has written on the LNP’S era of power in local government.
response?”; “So what will I say when the media ask this question?”; “So what will we do when the council CEO says that it can’t be achieved because of this?”
Most of the time he knew the answers, but he wanted to know if you had thought out the political ramifications of the position or action you were recommending.
It ensured you were across your brief and you never sent him out ill-prepared.
I found embedding this mental thought process of “so what” questions in my everyday work sharpened my political radar. I still employ it today.
Because after you failed that process once with Campbell Newman, you
Wnever let yourself fail it again. hile Newman’s temper and directness are well known, I personally could only count a few times when I felt it was directed at me undeservingly.
Where he fell short was his habit of jettisoning people. Newman – strong in his convictions – would jettison long-time staff and friends once their opinions or purpose diverged from his.
If you didn’t see the merit in his position that was your problem, not his, regardless of your loyalty or friendship to date. Unfortunately, in his post politics life, this characteristic has only been amplified – typified by his resignation from the LNP, whose volunteers helped deliver him so much political success. Newman also liked to joke around with the staff and can be a good sport. At one of the office celebrations, he had been gifted a stuffed yellow toy duck as a joke. Newman took it upon himself to extend the joke by naming the duck “Widely” and keeping the toy in his office.
For months after, you would be sitting in a meeting with stakeholders and he would announce that he had “consulted widely and decided that…”. He would then throw you a mischievous glance and you would try not to burst with laughter as the poor stakeholders nodded sagely at a Lord Mayor they thought was very in touch with his constituency.
Then there were the times you accompanied him to school fetes and he had you raiding the trash and treasure for old computer parts.
Ever the engineer, he loved tinkering with old computers, and we would both leave the fete lugging a chest full of old motherboards and spare parts to the boot of the mayoral car.
Late in 2010, Civic Cabinet got a briefing on predicted summer weather conditions for the city and the forecast was for higher than average falls.
Newman, having devoured hydrological data on previous floods following the briefing, was convinced the circumstances were ripe for a large-scale flood event and took the extraordinary and politically courageous step of airing those concerns publicly.
The predictable chorus calling him a scaremonger followed, including from the Labor opposition councillors, but Newman was certain.
As a result, when the rain did start falling, Newman was more mentally prepared than others and leapt into action.
Typical of his style, he didn’t co-ordinate the efforts from his office, instead from on the ground as the rain fell.
Cris Anstey as chief of staff would meet him early in the morning on the side of the road where he was surveying the preparation work or damage to brief him on the latest information.
Newman himself would then work on the key messages for the day and then complete a round of media interviews on talkback radio, followed by a press conference to ensure residents had the information and advice they needed.
The first weekend after the flood, the 14, 15 and 16 of January 2011, was one of the iconic moments in the history of our city, when Brisbane residents turned out in incredible numbers to help their neighbours and friends.
This became known as the Mud Army as 23,000 volunteers from across the city and region descended on flood ravaged suburbs. Revisionists of history like to suggest the Mud Army was somehow the product of Anna Bligh’s “We
are Queenslanders” press conference speech the day before on January 13.
The truth is the concept was entirely a product of the co-ordination council put in place to meet what was going to be an obvious and very organic outpouring of assistance once the flood waters receded.
Following his performance during the 2011 flood, Newman’s brand was at an all-time high and Premier Bligh was herself experiencing a significant boost.
As a result, the state LNP team was again concerned that they faced another three years in opposition at the 2012 state election.
Once again, press speculation ensued and once again it was slapped down by Newman. As recently as January 2011, he had told The Australian, “I’ve committed to do another term in this city. I am standing for election in March next year.”
So, it is no understatement to say it came as a shock to the vast majority of councillors when a text message summoned us to the CBD on the morning of March 23 to be told by Newman he was leaving the council.
As we walked into the meeting, (Cr Matthew) Bourke turned to me and said “you know, this could only be about him resigning” to which I incredulously and naively replied “there is no way he could leave so soon after the floods”.
For a political insider who prides himself on being the voice of hard-headed political reality, this was a lapse in my judgment I remember vividly.
With some perfunctory words about his love for the council team being overridden by his desire to see the
LNP succeed at the state level, Newman declared we had the best successor we could want in Graham Quirk.
Just like that, Lord Mayor Newman was gone.
Leaving some very dazed and bewildered councillors in his wake, he was on his way down the road to a press conference at Milton to announce his intention to seek the seat of Ashgrove, the LNP state leadership and be Premier after the next state election.
It was clear that Quirk’s leadership style was going to be vastly different from his predecessor.
His cabinet meetings were decidedly more relaxed affairs than Newman’s.
If Newman decided a chairman had erred, they would normally incur a swift verbal rebuke along the lines of “there are 250 working days in a year and you’ve just wasted one”.
Peter Matic and Adrian Schrinner once turned up to a Newman cabinet meeting late. In response, Newman stopped the meeting so he could take each of them individually into his office for a dressing down.
Quirk preferred a steady as-she-goes approach over a disruptive vision. His mantra to the cabinet and to the broader team was always “evolution not revolution”, and that became our focus.
This was also a significant departure from Newman whose crash or crash through approach he reinforced to the chairman by regularly asking “What’s the battle cry of the French Foreign Legion?” The answer is March… or Die.
Quirk’s elevation to the role of Lord Mayor marked an important milestone in the LNP team’s ongoing success.
It facilitated our longevity by giving us the opportunity to re-invent and broaden our brand beyond Newman.
At the time, Newman’s departure felt like a horrible blow to the team, but with hindsight, Quirk’s elevation ensured it was quite the opposite. What was most remarkable was that the whole transition had occurred bloodlessly and with the voters barely able to discern a break in stride from the team.
Newman stopped the meeting so he could take each of them individually into his office for a dressing down.