Quotes of the Day

It's a delicious bargain. Vote for John Howard - and let him do the worrying. As long as Australians stick together, work hard and observe the law, they can trust his government to make the big calls. That's the deal. Plus, Howard won't tell them how to live or what to think. With fluxion abroad and fitful anxiety at home, millions of citizens sleep more easily at night because they believe their Prime Minister is in control. All rock, no roll. Others curse his name as soon as they hear the morning news. Mentally or physically in exile, they have opted out of the sullen landmass they call "Howard's Australia." Yet in moments of fear, clarity and decision, Australians have come to know in their bones the country's 25th Prime Minister. His voice, temper, will, carriage, wounds and triumphs are part of the nation's shared experience. There are no surprises left, it would seem, in the 66-year-old leader - or in a government that came to office with an emphatic general-election victory on March 2, 1996.

In its early days, the ardent Liberal-National coalition that replaced 13 years of reformist Labor rule was raw and clumsy. Promises were broken or brazenly reclassified. The ministerial departure lounge attracted frequent flee-ers. But its fat parliamentary majority meant the Howard government did not lack the appetite for transformation or a fight. Inheriting a fiscal mess, the new government's fixers appeared to relish the task of taking money away from universities, welfare recipients and the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Taxpayers' assets were passed on for sale to merchant bankers, government debt was shredded, and a shareholder democracy was born. When Workplace Relations Minister Peter Reith launched an assault on the waterfront unions, there was a certain bloodlust. In pursuing a new tax system, with its 10% goods and services tax, a diligent and obstinate Treasurer Peter Costello lost his youth and much of his spark. Howard's way may have been austere and divisive, especially for someone who was governing "for all of us," but it was not indiscriminate.

He'd won Australians' votes first - and then, in 1998, another chance to see parts of his program through - but Howard found it would not be so easy to win their affection or trust. After more than 25 years in politics, he had by habit found comfort in being right. It had garnered him respect. Being popular, however, was novel - and fleeting. By early 2001, he was back in familiar territory. With an election due before the end of the year, his government was losing altitude. Good Budget management had given Howard the populist means to target specific groups, such as retirees, farmers and property investors. Money can't buy you love, but it can buy you extra time.

A decade of economic growth, asset-price inflation and financial engineering had altered many of the rules of class-based politics. Comrades now had share portfolios; union delegates were taking on debt. The latest struggle was taking place every Saturday in the nation's front yards to the rhythms of fervent auctioneers; in the distant, dusty bush, illegal immigrants were being detained. Howard's relatively narrow agenda of social cohesion, free enterprise and wealth accumulation was now a mass movement. And when the U.S. was attacked by terrorists and further calamity threatened, Howard became sterner and more somber - someone who would see the challenge through. His moment arrived. Instinctively, he did not try to charm. Polling wasn't necessary for him to understand where Middle Australia had come to rest. He was one of us. At the brisk end of Sydney's business precinct, where offices are full at 7:30, morning or night, and it costs $40 to park for a few hours, Canberra has a small foothold. The Commonwealth's elected and appointed officials work out of a Phillip Street building that quietly echoes the Howard ethos: solid, functional, efficient. What you see on the outside is what you get inside. In the waiting room attached to the Prime Minister's Office, the lighting is subdued; the armchairs and art give no clue to era, fashion, or taste. Staffers speak in murmurs, and occasionally a telephone trills. A mature assistant gracefully greets each call with a velvety "Prime Minister's Office." Whether the market is up or down, or the news good or bad, the people in here, you suspect, calmly go about their business.

John Howard is in a good place. Fit, busy, master of his own game. Ever watchful, in person he's cheerful, attentive and sincere. Blessed with a strong constitution, Howard has not lost his hunger. The political street-fighter who has dispatched Labor's Paul Keating, Kim Beazley (twice), Mark Latham and may yet face off next year against Beazley 2.0, cites one homely ingredient for success - never miss a meal. "It doesn't matter who you are," he says, "you've got time for lunch." The looming anniversary appears to have put the P.M. in a relaxed mood; he must be loving the moment, although in public it could seem un-Australian to be jubilant. "I'm not someone who gets deluded with the office," he says. "I guess there's a part of me that still, after 10 years, sort of thinks, Gee, this is an extraordinary privilege. Some, after a while, gave the impression that it was the natural thing in life. That they were there by right," says Howard, pausing briefly. "On both sides."

The implication is that Howard, a striver par excellence, is there by merit. But it's also by cunning, luck and perseverance. And the wonders of incumbency, the best political steroid ever. Howard rules (much better than) O.K.! Among many good ones, the P.M. is the Liberal party's best strategist. More important, he is the government's most effective communicator in today's supercharged news cycle. Usually with minimal success, Parliament House's hired political hands try to craft lines that will reach ordinary people about the government's actions and inactions; Howard has the advantage of an open invitation to appear on radio or TV. It's hardly oratory or storytelling; nevertheless Howard's words, gestures and images stick. Why? Few editors or producers share his understanding of their mediums; none can match his cultural memory or knowledge of the audience. So Howard shapes the agenda. Not only does Howard devour the product, he is the product. The P.M. is the message.

Apart from its discipline and efficiency, Howard's office is known for its micromanagement; it's the hub of Canberra's conservative politics and bureaucratic power. So is the P.M. a one-man band? Howard rejects any notion that he's all-knowing or ever-present. First, he says, it's impossible these days to keep track of all the information flooding into his office. Second, he's restored the preeminent role of Cabinet, which has collectively taken all the major decisions. "Obviously I have views, and I'm not suggesting for a moment that those views aren't listened to," he says. "But I've tried not to build a presidential prime ministership." Conservative politicians marvel at his genius; high-profile figures across the Tasman, in the South Pacific and in Asia speak about Howard's political prowess in the awed tones cricketers might use to describe Steve Waugh.

Although today's tight focus on political leaders puts charisma near the top of a candidate's "must-have" list, Howard's surface deficiencies have not hurt him. While there's no cult of personality around the P.M., the dramatic moments of a decade set him apart from the other contenders for his job: a brave decision on gun laws, freedom for East Timor, an uncompromising approach to border protection, standing shoulder to shoulder with President George W. Bush after 9/11, providing comfort to the bereaved in Bali. That Howard's forte would become international affairs and national security was not immediately apparent. He was awkward and inexperienced in such matters. His diplomatic pitch was often prepared for domestic consumption. When he thought aloud about U.S. power and Australia's role in the region, he got stuck with the "deputy sheriff" badge. He'd take the bait of Asia's demagogues; Indonesian President Megawati Sukarnoputri refused to take his call. Now, he's an active summiteer, sought out for counsel, clear about Australia's interests and values.

Where Howard's dominance is not in dispute is in Parliament - and control of the Senate has given his authority a new dimension. Unsurprisingly, Howard has nudged the institution to the center of public life; some accuse him of sidelining other players and interest groups in the democratic process. Howard passionately professes the "virtue of politics." Of course, it has been his life's work. When last month's conscience vote on the abortion drug RU486 reduced the power of the Health Minister (the P.M. was on the losing side), Howard felt his colleagues had shirked their responsibility. "I actually believe in the political process, with all its imperfections," says Howard. "When (former Prime Minister Paul) Keating said the national Parliament was 'the great clearing house of ideas in Australia,' he was right." The essential Howard is a scrapper and proselytizer with a thick skin. In the House of Representatives this year, he and his ministers have been pounded during Question Time, the P.M. mostly impassive before Labor's inquisitorial blitz about the scandal of AWB Ltd. and the U.N.'s Oil-for-Food program. And during those first two sitting weeks, when the P.M. had heard enough, arms and body would spring up - "Mr. Speaker!" - as he spat taunts across the chamber - "Mr. Speaker!" - hand thumping the dispatch box in a climax of ardor. Two decades ago, when Australian politics was more intimate, colorful and chaotic, The Member for Bennelong had a reputation for being dogmatic. An advocate of radical change, particularly in deregulating industrial relations, Howard was way, way ahead of the curve. If there were positives in his economic pitch, they were lost in a language redolent of pain, blame, fight and failure. The free-market purists, like former Liberal leader John Hewson, were making headway only in exalted circles; Labor modified their ideas and ruled until the mid-1990s. P.M. Bob Hawke started the disruption, but offered prosperity and therapy. Keating's vision was grander, but his driving was erratic. Howard studied his predecessors. He has softened in word and deed. "I think everybody mellows a bit and is tempered by time and reality and what is achievable," he says. When it came to the recent industrial relations changes, some critics said Howard had lost his nerve (many more claim he went too far). "I wouldn't call the reforms we put through in the last year radical," he says. "I'd call them significant. And very beneficial. I think it's appropriate for the times, I do, but I think we got the balance right."

The P.M. is searching for equilibrium. Words like moderate, practical, mainstream and sensible have become the fiber of his prose. But he has a particular fondness for "balance," which Howard believes is "as crucial to a well-ordered society as it is to a full human life." In his pre–Australia Day address to the National Press Club this year, Howard said the secret to the country's greatness was "our sense of balance." He explained Australia's achievement: in economic life, the balance between public and private; on national identity, the balance between unity and diversity; in global strategy, between history and geography; in politics, between rights and democratic responsibilities. It's hard to pick a fight against proportion, fairness and prudence. Howard's actions have not always matched the friendly rhetoric; often the line is blurred, crossed, ignored. Despite professing high standards of ministerial responsibility and public accountability, his government has had lapses - in immigration administration, pre–Iraq war intelligence, the appointment of officials, the handling of the "children overboard" affair, public spending, and the Iraqi wheat scams.

Over time, Howard has become pragmatic, gradualist and populist. For instance, there is rising chatter about the need for a remaking of the tax system, from ambitious backbenchers to the ideologues with media platforms. Howard was once a big-gesture guy on tax: an advocate for income-splitting by couples for tax purposes, an abolitionist of imposts on business, a small(er) government man. Today, after the slog of introducing the GST and revamping family benefits, he dismisses the need for serious tax renovations. It's tinkering time. "The average citizen is interested in lower taxes," he says. "This idea that you go through a great thing and produce no tax relief at all, and that everybody stands up and applauds and says, 'That's magnificent,' is not valid." From grants to first-home buyers, health-care entitlements for retirees and payments to families, Howard and Costello are hitting their targets. Without fanfare, the government has extended the principle of user pays in health and education, placed greater emphasis on individual responsibility in welfare and carved out a greater role for private enterprise in the economy. They've erred on the side of looking after today's (older) voters, rather than the next generation. Australia has been transformed during the past decade. Globalization, the Internet, terrorism and the rise of China, among other things, have dictated the velocity and form of change. As well, demographics - the ageing of the baby boomer cohort and immigration - is having a dynamic effect. For politicians, the modern condition means an electorate that is demanding, less tribal and more materialistic. In general, Australians are older, wealthier, deeper in debt, unsettled by events beyond the country's shores, and lead their private lives in anything but conventional ways. What has Howard contributed - and what has he taken away?

As he tells it, he hopes his legacy is "the opportunities that go to middle Australia to realize their dreams." Such as? "The economic opportunities, the work opportunities, the sense of stability and security it gave to people's lives. And economic security provides people with a sense of optimism. It's not the only thing in life but it's quite important. See, it's not really within the writ of government to condition the human soul. That is for individuals, according to their values."

When it comes to the culture wars, Howard has tried to corner his opponents. Australians "have made a lot of mistakes, we have treated Aboriginal people very badly, and we have our share of racists and bigots," he says. "But a lot of the agenda of the cultural Left in this country is basically that the past has been a disgrace, that we've achieved very little, we've become the most materialistic country in the world and that we're mean-spirited. We're pretty awful people and we should be ashamed of ourselves and start all over again. Well, I don't hold that view, and the overwhelming majority of Australians don't hold that view, and they reject it." It's a caricature of the criticisms. Pure hyperbole, no doubt. But Howard makes it clear that the critics not only hate him, they hate us too. Howard's understanding of and empathy with ordinary Australians is deeply held; if he really is out of touch with the young, migrants, the poor and Aborigines, then so are many people who have shared his experience. Listen to John, 66, a former solicitor, of Kirribilli House, Sydney. "I had a middle Australian life and upbringing. I didn't grow up with a chip on my shoulder. But equally, I didn't grow up in excessively privileged circumstances. Comfortable. I was lucky I had two very devoted, patriotic parents and I had a comfortable upbringing in a lower-middle-class suburb, Earlwood." He stays in touch with average people, he claims, because he has not succumbed to the trappings of high office. Howard has tried not to spend too much time in Canberra ("it's atypical of Australia - I don't mean that rudely"), he says: "I travel the country with relentless evenness and regularity." But many of his touchstones are outdated. The suburbs of Sydney where Howard was raised in the postwar years are like palimpsests. The postcodes have not changed, but the ethnic and social norms have been overwritten thrice.

It won't surprise any Australian to hear that Howard believes the nation's strength derives from the good, decent and generous character of its people. "I never thought Australians had any doubt as to what their identity was," he says. "It's a very strong personality. It owes a lot to certain influences that are predominantly home grown." Howard feels that Australians are adaptable. "We are still a relatively classless, egalitarian country, and we can therefore adapt to change and embrace change more readily. There are fewer things holding us back now than used to be the case." Never a fan of the ambiguous word "multiculturalism," he also rejects the idea that Australia could build a federation of cultures. "There's no such thing as a nation without a dominant culture," he says. "We have a dominant Anglo-Saxon culture. It's our language, our literature, our institutions ... You can be part of the mainstream culture and still have a place in your life and your heart for your home country." Be one of us. In an ocean of change, Howard's values have offered stability. Balancing budgets does not inspire poets, but it keeps the state on an even keel. The middle road, the mainstream, average. It has worked, but how long can it last? When does balance become stasis? The downside of populism is that sometimes the masses are in revolt. Managing from crisis to crisis is something an old hand like Howard can do with relative ease. There's another Budget in May, more legislation to write and pass, the sell-off of the remaining part of Telstra to complete, and another election next year. More of the same. Howard's not quite living in the past, but there's little sense of adventure. It's never seen as complacency or drift until it's too late. To return to the beginning: a really good night's sleep is about rest, recovery - and dreaming.

Now that the foundations have been in place for some time, it's inevitable that there will be a growing sense of what's next? The country faces problems associated with an ageing population: rising health-care costs, inadequate retirement savings, and a shrinking workforce. Educating the young to be competitive in the post-industrial age. Wiring the nation, physically and mentally, for the information economy. Growing in a sustainable manner and preserving the environment. Maintaining social harmony and equality of opportunity. Remaining competitive in world markets. Ensuring national security without compromising liberties. Howard knows all this, but what if the next phase of renewal requires more wit, energy and impatience than the P.M. has left in the tank?

So far, the timidity of alternative leaders or visions - within the government or the opposition - leaves the question of retirement somewhat in Howard's hands. The Liberal party is in a dilemma: Howard has to go one day, but why would they boot out a legend? Opposition is hell. Certainly, Howared loves his job, and even those who are not being unkind say the P.M. will have to be carried out. "I still get up in the morning keen to get to work and do things and go and meet people," he says. "I never tire of meeting people. It's the best part of the job." His political kin Bush and Tony Blair, much younger men, will soon be out in private life, no doubt looking for new gigs. John Howard, the people's choice since 1996, is still running. He's looking ahead, but the finish line is in sight.

• Tom Dusevic
• Australia's Prime Minister lost his radical heart to populism. John Howard and the masses are communing in a vast middle. What happens next?