At the 2016 election, the Turnbull government lost 14 seats and was reduced to a single-seat margin. Artwork: Dionne Gain Credit:

Normal text size Larger text size Very large text size When Scott Morrison stood up in the Parliament and brandished a lump of coal at the Labor members like a carbonaceous crucifix, the outraged response was not limited to the opposition benches. It was the subject of a spirited disagreement at the next meeting of the Turnbull government's inner sanctum, the cabinet. Participants in the meeting, in February 2017, recalled that Christopher Pyne, the leader of the government in the House, complained about Morrison's stunt. Then treasurer Scott Morrison brought coal to Parliament in February 2017. Credit: Alex Ellinghausen Although Pyne today denies any such thing happened, five other ministers present at the meeting recalled it clearly. Pyne rebuked Morrison by saying "that wasn't a very popular move in my electorate", or words similar. And "nobody likes coal". But that comment provoked Barnaby Joyce. He sprang to coal's defence: "Please don't say that in Queensland," said the deputy prime minister, who represents a seat in NSW. Another Nationals member of the cabinet, Resources Minister and Joyce protege Matt Canavan, a Queenslander, backed him up. The tension over coal was never resolved because it was part of the essential tension that always threatened to tear the Turnbull government apart – two competing factions, two clashing ideologies, never reconciled. Turnbull never managed to unify them, nor transcend their mutual mistrust.


Why did the Turnbull government ultimately fail? Because its members decided that what divided them was more important than what united them. And that included personal ambitions. From the time of his ascension to the prime ministership in September 2015, Turnbull was preoccupied with one member of his backbench – Tony Abbott. Two of Turnbull's most loyal ministers speaking separately described Turnbull as "obsessed" with Abbott. One of the prime minister's confidantes described Abbott as being "like a witch inside his head". Loading "He would talk about Abbott in the morning meeting of the leadership group all the time," said one member of that group, the handful of senior ministers that confers daily to guide a government, even though the former leader would have been irrelevant to the government's plans for the day. Julie Bishop warned Turnbull more than once that anything he said about Abbott would be reported back to him by two other members of the leadership group, Peter Dutton and Mathias Cormann who, like Abbott, are part of the conservatives faction within the government. "That's nonsense," Turnbull would reply. "You are obsessed with them". Bishop also warned the prime minister against a third member of the leadership group, Pyne, a key figure in the moderates faction. "In the end," Bishop would say, "Christopher will jump to save his own position." Turnbull refused to believe her: "But he's stayed at my house!"


Of course, in the end, all three of these men betrayed Turnbull. Dutton challenged him for the leadership, Cormann worked to help him, and Pyne ultimately abandoned Turnbull to help Morrison win the leadership instead. As one of Turnbull's senior staff members put it: "A lot of people were constantly waiting for Malcolm to be weakened enough so that they could have a go." But until that fateful, final week in August 2018, Turnbull caught no hint of disloyalty from them. More than once, the prime minister would attest to them individually that "only four people make this government work" – he'd list Morrison, Dutton, Cormann and Pyne. Turnbull repeated this judgement in the final fortnight before all of them turned against him. Yet Abbott was the internal enemy who preoccupied Turnbull. It was only days after winning the prime ministership that Turnbull made his first bid to entice Tony Abbott out of Parliament. He canvassed with him the post of high commissioner to London. Tony Abbott on the backbench, listening to then prime minister Malcolm Turnbull speak in February 2018. Credit:Alex Ellinghausen The deposed leader said he wanted nothing for himself. He asked only for favours for his former chief of staff, Peta Credlin, and her husband, former Liberal party director Brian Loughnane. For Credlin, he asked the post of sex discrimination commissioner. For Loughnane, he sought Australia's ambassadorship to Ireland and the Vatican. Turnbull turned him down. But the prime minister would return to the "get Abbott out" project again.


Abbott didn't want employment or distraction. He didn't want a new phase in life. He wanted to finish the old phase. He had "unfinished business" as conservative Liberal senator Concetta Fierravanti-Wells described it. Abbott, who had quit the prime minister's office promising publicly that he'd conduct "no wrecking, no undermining, no sniping", was to become an unending frustration for Turnbull. Loading Replay Replay video Play video Play video With a worried eye on Abbott, skirting around the neuralgic areas of climate change and same-sex marriage where he was bound to Abbott government policy, Turnbull tried to find some unifying ground for his government. First he tried tax reform. In his first flush of optimism, he enthused that "everything" was on the table. Including changes to the GST. And, in an interview with the Herald and The Age a month after he took office, he was asked which tax concessions he was prepared to review. Negative gearing? Capital gains tax? Superannuation? "Everything, every single element, is on the table. And I know that always means that someone can then run a scare campaign, but I'm sorry, we've got to stop [this]. "This is part of the political tradition I'm determined to end. We have got to be able to consider policy options in an unfettered way. We've got to have the maturity to have a debate that is not throwing things off the table," Turnbull said.


"Because what happens is politicians who get intimidated by their opponents or by the media or whatever, they say, 'Oh that's off the table, that's off the table, that's off the table' and suddenly there's nothing left on the table." Yet he fell into precisely this syndrome. Not only did he end up taking just about everything off the table, he ended up being the chief scaremonger. Then prime minister Malcolm Turnbull in the PM's suite at Parliament House in September 2016. Credit:Andrew Meares Turnbull blamed Morrison for the collapse of tax reform. According to Turnbull, the treasurer was guilty of "front-running" the debate, publicly raising specific tax reform options before the government was ready to deal with them. "I wish ScoMo would just shut up," the prime minister complained widely to staff and ministers at the time. In particular, Morrison was trying to push for a higher GST to pay for cuts to other taxes, much as John Howard and Peter Costello had done in 2000. But Turnbull was furious that Morrison was doing it ahead of any decision by the government. "He used to justify it," Turnbull has said to confidantes since. "He thought he was a brilliant media manager." Today, Morrison hits back at Turnbull's complaints: "At all times," a Morrison spokesman says, "the then treasurer was seeking to keep the government’s options open on all proposals that were already in the public domain because of the white paper process. The then PM [Turnbull] had taken the position not to rule anything in or out. The then teasurer acted in accordance with that decision." In other words, Morrison was merely acting within the parameters laid out by his leader. Implication: Turnbull was a panic merchant who didn't have the fortitude to allow a real debate on tax.

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