Unless the polls are massively flawed, a plebiscite on same-sex marriage will deliver a big majority for change. That could be a problem for Malcolm Turnbull given the schisms in his party, writes Jeff Sparrow.

Until 1949, Victorian law still listed death as the penalty for male homosexual acts.

In these dark times for progressives, it's good to be reminded of some successes. The achievements of the gay and lesbian movement are, quite frankly, astonishing. It's hard to think of a social movement that's shifted attitudes so quickly, rendering the recent past almost unimaginable for a new generation.

Let's not forget, in Tasmania, homosexuality remained illegal until 1997 - and, until that date, the law books said gay sex could be punished by 21 years in gaol.

That's the context for the latest schisms within conservative ranks, with senator Eric Abetz announcing that he won't necessarily vote in line with the results of a plebiscite over equal marriage, and senators Cory Bernardi and Bridget McKenzie confirming that they'll be voting against same-sex marriage no matter what the community says.

To understand what's happening, we need to briefly reprise the history of this sorry debate: years upon years of politicians trying to pander to bigotry, even as the public became ever more accepting of same sex rights.

The only reason Parliament needs to pass laws about equal marriage is, back in 2004, John Howard amended the Marriage Act to exclude same-sex couples.

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At the time, many pundits thought this tremendously cunning, a way of deploying socially conservative workers (the so-called 'Howard battlers') to wedge the ALP. Indeed, that was clearly Labor's assessment, for it instantly supported Howard. The ALP, explained Nicola Roxon, backed "the institution of marriage between men and women and as a bedrock institution for families".

That perception of same-sex marriage as a fringe cause pushed by a vocal inner-city minority but loathed by ordinary suburbanites persisted throughout the Labor years.

As a university student, Julia Gillard ran for office on a gay-rights platform. As prime minister, however, she declared she was a "cultural traditionalist", who opposed euthanasia and same-sex marriage on the basis of traditional values.

"I think for our culture, for our heritage," she said, "the Marriage Act and marriage being between a man and a woman has a special status."

Her calculation was, presumably, that she needed the support of the Australian Christian Lobby and certain socially conservative union leaders more than she needed the advocates of equality, who were still judged to be a tiny minority. But, of course, they weren't. On the contrary, every poll showed growing support for marriage rights - and, as a result, questions about equality dogged Gillard throughout her tenure.

To appreciate how disastrously Gillard manoeuvred herself into a corner, think of what might have happened had she enthusiastically embraced marriage reform in 2012.

As I argued here in 2013:

If Labor had already introduced reform, Abbott would now face an unpalatable choice. If he agreed to respect the new reality - that is, to honour the same-sex ceremonies taking place - he'd risk an insurgency from the social conservatives who form a key Liberal constituency, people for whom opposition to gay marriage remains entirely non-negotiable. But what if he pledged to overturn the law, as many religious activists would undoubtedly demand? In that case, he'd be promising to dissolve the unions of married couples across the land, a position infinitely more confrontational and unpalatable than simply defending traditional marriage in the abstract. When people like Barry O'Farrell are already speaking out for change, it's hard to believe that Liberals' libertarian wing would sit quietly while Abbott went about breaking up marriages. Popular support for marriage reform should, in other words, pose a huge opportunity for Gillard and a correspondingly massive problem for Abbott. Yet, somehow, Labor has made a world of pain for itself.

When Abbott took office, he, too, proceeded as if same-sex marriage were a fringe issue. Reform was an obsession of the Twitterati, said the Murdoch pundits, a perverse crusade by an inner-city elite that real Australians found either abhorrent or irrelevant.

But that was pure projection. The opinion surveys showed that, actually, suburban voters cared very little about Abbott's own obsessions ("How can we honour Prince Phillip?" said no ordinary person ever). They did, however, support marriage reform by a consistent majority.

Suddenly, the wedgers found themselves wedged. The conservative wing of the party would not accept reform. Yet Abbott and his team were forced to recognise the extent to which public opinion had turned and find some way to respond.

Hence the marriage equality plebiscite. Advocating a plebiscite allowed Abbott to stall reform and to absolve himself of responsibility for a debate that would primarily take place outside Parliament.

Initially, the Abbott supporters in the commentariat hailed this plan as a masterstroke, perhaps calculating that the delay would mean the plebiscite would fail (particularly given the low success rate of constitutional referendums).

But then something interesting happened: the polls showed that voters liked, by quite a large measure, the idea of a popular vote. Though conservative pundits took this as further evidence of Abbott's genius, it actually represented something quite different: basically, after years of politicians' slippery manoeuvres, the public no longer trusted parliamentarians to fix the mess they'd created.

Malcolm Turnbull inherited the Abbott plebiscite, which has now revealed itself as another poisoned chalice. Turnbull likes to present himself as a sophisticated, urbane Liberal, the antithesis of an Abbott-style knuckledragger. He'd love to be the Prime Minister who presides over a historic parliamentary vote for marriage reform. Yet the tensions within his party (fuelled by Abbott's persistent white-anting) compel him to proceed with a plebiscite that he doesn't really want.

The Abetz and Bernardi interventions illustrate Turnbull's problems. Unless the polls are massively flawed, a plebiscite will deliver a big majority for change. In the face of that, a government that refused to act would be plunged into crisis. You only have to look at Tony Abbott's current American trip to see the extent to which opposition to same-sex marriage has dwindled to a reactionary rump. The group the former PM is addressing says, in all seriousness, that it "seeks to recover the robust Christendomic theology of the third, fourth, and fifth centuries".

Abetz and Bernardi don't seriously think they can prevent marriage reform. There's no indication the public wants to join Abbott's trip back to the third century. They can, however, stake out territory in the Liberals' internal ructions, positioning themselves as leading figures in the emerging extreme wing of the party.

It's a strategy that might pay off for them but it won't pay off for the Liberals as a whole. One suspects that this is merely the beginning of a long, grinding war within Australian conservatism, a war that neither side can easily win.

The Australian public has made up its mind. It wants equal marriage - and politicians who get in the way will suffer the consequences.

Jeff Sparrow is a writer, editor and broadcaster, and an honorary fellow at Victoria University. His Twitter handle is @Jeff Sparrow.