Fewer imbeciles, more washing up: Bob Brown and his partner’s post-politics life

Environmentalist and former Greens leader Bob Brown, 78, met sheep farmer Paul Thomas, 67, in the late 1980s. A decade later, a bushwalk and a bag of croissants were the only aphrodisiacs they needed.

Bob: I met Paul in the late 1980s when he asked me to speak to a meeting of the Gay and Lesbian Law Reform Group in Hobart. I gave them some tips on activism, like lobby every politician in the state, get in the letters pages and hold an opinion poll: if you don’t like it, don’t release it!

Bob Brown, at right, taught Paul Thomas to be tolerant: “I saw how he put up with some of the imbeciles in Parliament, how he was polite to them in the corridor even after they’d been throwing nasty barbs at him.”Credit: Adam Gibson

In the early 1990s, Paul joined the Greens and, in 1996, he helped on my election campaign for the federal Senate, which I knew would be really close. It was the eve of the vote and Paul was getting our campaign office ready for the election-night party. He was the only other person there and I said to him, “I’m going for a bushwalk to relax.” And he said, “I’ll come with you: I know a place.” And so we went and sat on some rocks beside the North West Bay River, off the south end of Mount Wellington. We talked about life and the state of the world and I realised I wanted to spend more time with him.

I won the election and, shortly after that, I was staying at a friend’s house in Hobart. One morning, there was a knock on the door and there was Paul, holding a bag of croissants. I had butter and jam, so I invited him in and we had a good talk and we decided that we’d get together.

I thought I’d be on my own for the rest of my existence, so meeting Paul changed everything. We related to one another. Like me, he’d grown up gay and been trapped in a homophobic culture. This was when you got 20 years in jail for homosexual activity.

Paul’s strength is that he’s not a worrier. In 2002, John Howard put up the Regional Forest Agreement Bill, which would destroy Australia’s forests. For two weeks, I fought every single participle in that bill. When it got through, I kept a brave face in public but privately it wreaked havoc. I flew home from Canberra and drove an hour south to Cygnet, where Paul lives, and I walked through the door and descended into tears. Paul said, “Let’s just sit down and have dinner.”

“We don’t fight. We don’t raise our voices; we’ve never had to.”

There are no secrets with us. When I was in the Senate, I called him every day and sent a card every week. When I left the Senate, he was asked, “What will Bob do now?” And he said, “Hopefully, more of the housework.” I received an avalanche of tea towels and a very fine apron. Now we share the tasks. He’s the better cook, but I’m the better washer-upper. He’s a sheep farmer and still shears the sheep and crutches them. But when his sheepdog, Nick, died I became the rouseabout. I pull the dags off the wool and sweep the floor, and I try to get the sheep in. Paul says I’m too slow and I don’t take orders like a sheepdog, but I’m the best help he’s got.

We don’t gabble much. When we go bushwalking, we just walk along. It’s great because we hear every wallaby that thumps through the bush and every echidna rustling in the grass. Having that kind of companionship is like hitting the jackpot in the lottery of life, and I struck that jackpot with Paul.

Paul: I met Bob in 1988 when he was in state parliament. I was running a gay law-reform group and invited him to speak. I was attracted to him, but he was a high-profile person and I thought, why would he be interested in me?

The second time I saw him was in 1994. I was passing through Liffey with a mutual friend and we stopped in at Bob’s for a cup of tea. Bob took us for a walk. At one point we had to cross a little stream. Bob had boots on, but I only had sneakers, so he picked me up and carried me across, which touched me.

I was involved with the Greens by then, and we were fundraising to get Bob elected. During that period, he seemed a little lonely. He had his supporters, but no one was tending to his personal needs, doing his laundry or having a beer with him after work. I knew where he lived in Hobart, so I turned up one morning with some croissants. He was a bit nonplussed; I think he’d resigned himself to eternal bachelorhood.

One Saturday in 1996, I was due to hold a fundraising event at my farm in Cygnet. Bob and I drove down from Hobart together on the Friday night, talking all the way. He stayed over and that was our first night together.

“It’s one thing being homosexual but another thing to be in a relationship with a Greens politician!”

During the election, we had to meet covertly. He was in the thick of his campaign and needed to stay focused. I was used to keeping things secret because I come from a conservative family. After Bob won, in March 1996, we took a holiday to Bali. We went swimming and had nice long meals. We decided then that we’d come out as a couple. We bought these cheap rings and wore them on our wedding fingers as a sign that we were together.

When we got back, I decided to tell my parents about Bob. They already knew I was gay, but they didn’t know who I was seeing. I talked it over with my sister and she said, “How on earth do we tell them? It’s one thing being homosexual but another thing to be in a relationship with a Greens politician!”

I do more physical work than him, like the cooking and domestic tasks, but I’ve trained him to do the washing and Sunday morning breakfasts; that’s his specialty.

Bob has taught me to be patient, that it takes time to achieve things. And also to be tolerant: I saw how he put up with some of the imbeciles in Parliament, how he was polite to them in the corridor even after they’d been throwing nasty barbs at him. [The Giants, about Brown’s life of activism, is in cinemas now.]

We’ve always been at ease with one another. We don’t fight. We don’t raise our voices; we’ve never had to. We live in a nice location, in the bush overlooking the water, and we have an outside fireplace.

At night, we sit around the fire and have a beer or a glass of wine and, if it gets too cold, we’ll come inside; we might switch on the television, but usually we don’t. Usually, we just sit there being with one another, and that’s enough.

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