The more we return to John Curtin’s life, the greater his contribution appears, not just as a wartime leader and social reformer, but now – at last publicly and in a very modern way – as a disruptor, a mental health militant, if you will, even if he was unwilling to share that aspect of his personal story while he lived.



Curtin’s mental health journey resonates today with the work of beyondblue, particularly when it comes to men’s mental health.

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Pressure to conform means too many men still bottle things up, trying to go it alone – as Curtin did – which increases the likelihood of their depression or anxiety going unrecognised and untreated. We know that untreated depression increases the risk of suicide and, to some degree, this contributes to the difference in the number of men and women taking their own lives.

On October 1 1935 Curtin was approached to stand for the Labor leadership following Jim Scullin’s resignation. But the invitation would only be formalised if he pledged to give up alcohol, which he did. He defeated Frank Forde by a single vote.



In Fremantle on September 20, 1937, at the Labor policy launch in the lead up to the October general election, Curtin laid out his vision for the future, for the Australia he wanted to craft.

He declared plans for the protection of Australian industries, employment as a major measure of national policy, the 40-hour working week as a matter of principle, the establishment of unemployment allowances, widow pensions, and training and employment for young people.

This wasn’t hollow electioneering. Curtin may be best remembered as a wartime leader, but his legacy is one of an institution builder, a great reformist.

But his great reforms might never have happened had some of Curtin’s own party been successful in 1941 in opposing him becoming prime minister because of his mental health. He seemed, they said, to be plagued by complaints and minor illnesses – thought to be nervous in origin – when the political going got tough.

Curtin, they said, worried much about little things; he was afraid of people; he exaggerated difficulties: “He took losses as a personal responsibility and worried himself with an illogical feeling of individual blame.”

It is obvious now, reflecting on the statements of those who knew him personally, that Curtin struggled with his health problems in silence. Understanding what his own colleagues were capable of, you have to think he was right to be concerned.

Imagine the public reaction if it had leaked out that Australia’s wartime leader could be reduced to tears by political sledging as Curtin was when he was accused of sending Australian troops into the slaughterhouse.

When the prime minister would tell his staff he was “not feeling too well today,” they understood that the comment was as much about his mental health as it was his physical.



Curtin’s wellbeing suffered from his desperate desire to portray himself as an active, competent war time leader, but his circumstances were not unique to his time or his position as Australia’s 14th prime minister.

His contemporary and nemesis, Winston Churchill, famously borrowed Samuel Johnson’s expression to describe his own depression as ‘the black dog’.

Churchill could be so overwhelmed by depression he would spend days, even weeks, in bed, fatigued and disinterested, unable to concentrate. These dark periods happened multiple times over many decades.

When he wasn’t depressed, Churchill experienced episodes of high energy. Not sleeping until the early morning, working at his books, talking incessantly, thoughts and ideas tumbling out. So much so that then US president, Franklin D Roosevelt, once said of him: “He has a thousand ideas a day, four of which are good.”

This was the life of the man to whom the fate of Britain was entrusted in its darkest hour.

Britain couldn’t afford for Churchill to become depressed and despairing and non-functional for months during the war. Australia could not afford for Curtin to slip off the wagon or cave in under internal pressures. Just as America could not afford the myth of presidential invincibility to be undermined by the revelation FDR spent most of his time in a wheelchair.

Curtin’s psychological battles would stay with him his whole life, but despite this – or perhaps, in part, because of it – he would become the greatest of our prime ministers.

Professor of psychiatry and pharmacology at Tufts Medical Center in Boston, Nassir Ghaemi, directs the mood disorders program.

In a recent article in the Conversation he wrote:

Deify and deny: great men cannot be ill, certainly not mentally ill. But what if they are not only ill; what if they are great, not in spite of manic-depression, but because of it?”

Prof Ghaemi wrote that his recent research suggests “in times of crisis, it is sometimes those who are seen as quirky, odd or with a mental disorder that show the greatest leadership”.

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Yet Curtin’s unwillingness to speak openly about his health problems, and to seek necessary help, is a tragic example of the very real stigma that remains attached to the issue of mental health even today, particularly for men.

It was stigmatisation by his own party members and colleagues that very nearly robbed Australia of our greatest prime minister.

But would it really be any different today? Would the public be prepared to see a PM who acknowledged issues of the dimensions borne by Curtin continue as the nation’s leader even in peace, let alone in war?

I would suggest the answer is no. Not yet. We still have a long way to go.

To tell or not to tell is still a question confronting thousands of Australians each day as they balance work responsibilities and the sometimes disabling thoughts and symptoms associated with depression and anxiety.

One in five Australians currently employed has a mental health condition and they bring all aspects of themselves – physical and mental health – to work every day.

Most days they will be highly productive, engaged and committed employees. Occasionally they might need time out or some flexibility.

Yet how many of us would be prepared to admit to bosses and colleagues our productivity is slipping because of depression, or that workloads and schedules are contributing to crippling anxiety?

Far easier to explain sickies with a physical illness – a migraine or even the man flu – than admit depression weighed so heavily you couldn’t ditch the doona.

At worst, discussing your mental health issues in the workplace can be a matter of prosperity versus poverty, a productive career contributing to Australia’s economy versus being out of work and out of hope.

The good news is that the situation is improving. More and more people are prepared to talk openly about their mental health, just as they do their physical ailments.

Mental health conditions can affect us all, whatever our age, our income, religion, race or gender. The decision to tell the truth can be positively life-changing, but is not a step lightly taken.

Bob Hawke did not reveal his battle with depression until after he had left the PM’s office. Though the Australian public did embrace him even though his past battles with alcohol were well known.

Former NSW opposition leader John Brogden, former federal minister Andrew Robb and WA’s own Geoff Gallop all stepped away from public office to take time out to recover their mental health. They have all since talked publicly about these issues and encouraged others to seek support from mental health experts when they need it.

But as John Brogden has himself recently reiterated, mental health is a continuum. Sometimes you are well. Sometimes not.

Millions of Australians understand from their own lives the force of these words with 45% of Australians expected to experience some form of mental health condition in their lifetime.

Yet it’s not easy to admit to ourselves, then our loved ones, trusted friends or work colleagues that we are struggling.

Untreated depression is one of the most significant risk factors in suicide and in Australia in 2015, there were 3,027 deaths: more than eight a day.

Of those 75% were men – that’s six men a day taking their own lives.

This makes suicide the leading cause of death for Australian men under the age of 45, significantly exceeding the national road toll. And men aged 85 and over are the group most likely to take their own lives.

A lot of blokes think it’s weak to admit that they’re going through a tough time.

This myth has been reinforced across generations, sometimes with tragic consequences, but it’s not true.

Anxiety and depression are just like any other medical condition – you need to have an action plan to manage your recovery and get better. And most people do recover.

For the wealth, health and happiness of our nation, for all the families, communities and workplaces in which we live, play and thrive we need people to be informed and engaged.

To do this all men and women – and children – need to be educated about good mental health practices and how to maintain them throughout life.

But this requires a willingness to embrace great social change. It requires macro and micro thinking – each of us individually assessing our own mental health and those we care about and taking action to get the support we need to stay healthy and strong and for organisations, institutions and governments to also embrace this change.

Great reform takes time to grow deep roots. Changing minds and hearts takes time too.



John Curtin understood that as he pursued some of the epic reforms of his era.

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Imagine if John Curtin were here today. At lot has changed in our nation since he suffered and struggled, often alone.

Many changes would amaze him. But as he reeled in shock and wonder at this new world, I like to believe his heart would be gladdened by our greater preparedness to not only allow people to talk about mental health but to encourage them to do so.

In his famous broadcast announcing that Australia was at war with Japan, Curtin called on all Australians to have courage.

“To the men and women of Australia,” he said, “The call is to you, for your courage, for you physical and mental ability.”

There is still a long way to go and the call is to you – the men and women of Australia – to have courage.

Talking about our mental health and how we are feeling, admitting we might be struggling, or asking a loved one or friend if they are thinking about taking their own live takes courage.

The call is to you.