Kate Chaney: Approaching Australia’s upcoming challenges with a new sense of optimism

Until 18 months ago, I was just another disillusioned voter.

Politics being played like a sport. Spin and ego smothering policy. Plenty of problems, but very little progress.

Above all, the system seemed to be driven by fear. Fear of change, fear of others, fear of losing something. Fear of someone else winning.

Now, one year into my new job as a Federal MP, my community’s whirlwind four-month grassroots campaign seems extraordinary, driven by 900 volunteers who emerged from nowhere, with no political experience, but with a thirst for a more positive future.

After the unlikely win, I went to Canberra and met the teals — an extraordinary group of women who had emerged in similar circumstances from similar communities across Australia. We have navigated the craziness of Canberra together, with the unique perspective of outsiders — people who are there not because we seek a political career, but because we have been asked to run by our communities.

From the new inside, it has felt like an uncynical rebirth of democracy. I never expected I could feel so hopeful about our future. The source of my optimism? Community, compassion and a long-term perspective.

The Liberals have been the most successful party of the post-war era. When Robert Menzies brought together the broad church of conservatives and liberals in the 1940s, he tapped into the majority values and demographics of the time. Service to community was assumed, with two generations having risked their lives for their country and lived through a depression with minimal state welfare. Membership of associations was high, whether churches, political parties or sporting clubs. These were the organisations that formed the backbone of community, providing a sense of belonging, purpose and safety.

In the context of deeply connected communities, individual freedoms were prioritised by the emerging Liberal Party.

But it was a long way from the neoliberal world we see today, which has taken individualism to its logical conclusion. We talk a lot about our rights, but rarely about our obligations.

We are now not good at balancing our own needs against those of others; at seeing the need for compromise; at relating to people with whom we have little in common. The loss of community shows up in skyrocketing youth mental illness, polarised political positions exacerbated by social media, and a broadly held mistrust of public institutions and market capitalism, but with no plausible alternative.

The demographics and values of many Australians have, as you would expect, shifted since the Menzies era. But the core human instinct to connect and support each other has not. We see this desire for community in extreme events — COVID, Ukraine, floods and fires.

If we can lift the veil of fear, we see an abundance of resources and goodwill to address the challenges before us. In Curtin, a community emerged in the four months before the election. This gives me real hope that we can rediscover community as a driving positive force for the country. Compassion was one of the characteristics that drove the campaign and ignited my community. I was surprised and impressed with the large number of people who wanted to see policies that were fairer and kinder, even if those policies would not benefit them directly.

Whether it was refugees, people living in poverty or Indigenous Australians, my community wanted to feel proud that Australia was a kind country. This seemed at odds with what we saw in our politics and media. Even using the word “kind” in a political context seemed naïve.

At the time, Australia was behaving like a spoilt teenager on the international stage — refusing to lift our weight on climate change, turning a blind eye to international obligations on refugees, and stubbornly ignoring the need for Indigenous people to be given control of their own lives.

We have a track record of having welcomed refugee populations in the past, made room for them and benefited from the cultural richness they bring us. The Voice referendum provides us an opportunity to admit we don’t know how to close the gap on Indigenous disadvantage, but we are willing to listen and keep trying.

These examples of compassion require us to change the structures and practices of institutions and markets. Individual kindness is not sufficient to make progress on these profound challenges. But it is a good — in fact, the only — place to start.

Part of optimism is a long-term view, and this was something else that my community was seeking. Here in WA, we have a history of making far-reaching bold decisions, from C.Y. O’Connor’s pipeline to Kalgoorlie, which enabled the gold rush, to the infrastructure investments of the North West Shelf, unlocking decades of prosperity.

This long-term view has been sadly lacking in our politics today, with no party willing to take on the growing challenge of the gap between tax revenue and spending. Everyone is willing to talk about the growing costs ahead, such as NDIS and aged care, but the slightest whiff of a change in taxes brings the media screaming about broken promises. It is obvious that a complete restructuring of our tax system is required if we are to be able to fund future obligations.

The Liberal party’s position on the Voice referendum has been the latest shameful example — short term political point scoring and scaremongering prioritised over a genuine commitment to closing the gap by allowing Indigenous people to have a say in matters affecting them.

And then there’s climate change — the ultimate test of long-term versus short-term. While we have seen some movement under the new government, it still seems to be the superannuation funds, with their focus on 30-year returns, that are leading the way on identifying and preparing for climate risks.

The irony is breathtaking. Australia is perhaps the world’s best-placed country to not only benefit economically from bold thinking on transforming our economy in a net zero world, but also to make the transition possible for other countries with fewer natural advantages.

A long-term view requires a perspective beyond the next election. It requires a willingness to do what is right now, even if it won’t be popular immediately. Some might say that our democratic system is not suited to long term planning, but we have managed it in the past and I think it is possible.

So I, and others, are now approaching our parliamentary roles with a sense of long-term optimism. Notwithstanding the immense challenges facing Australia, I believe we are part of a deep shift to a more hopeful era. If our communities can decide how they want to be represented, if we can unlock our compassion, and if we can adopt a long-term mindset, what might be possible?