Asked to reflect on the past six weeks covering Kooyong, my first instinct is to say: I feel like Amelia Hamer in that now-infamous photo (taken by this masthead’s James Brickwood) with Peter Dutton — exhausted, bewildered and slightly awed.
The battle between Monique Ryan — the 58-year-old former paediatric neurologist who unseated then-treasurer Josh Frydenberg in 2022 — and Amelia Hamer, the 31-year-old Oxford-educated grand-niece of former Victorian premier Sir Rupert Hamer, always promised intrigue.
But I didn’t expect this well-heeled patch of Melbourne’s east to deliver quite this much commotion – right up until Monday, when Hamer conceded and Ryan claimed victory for a second time.
The now infamous photo of Amelia Hamer (left) with Senator Jane Hume and then opposition leader Peter Dutton in Kooyong.Credit: James Brickwood
Even before the campaign officially began, Kooyong was making headlines.
Ryan’s husband, Peter Jordan, was filmed taking a Hamer campaign sign from a nature strip in Camberwell. The footage was undeniably funny — and deeply embarrassing for Ryan, whose political brand is built on integrity.
Ryan and Jordan apologised quickly. Defenders noted the sign was technically illegally placed, but the image of “Pinching Pete” as the Liberals donned him – teal T-shirt peeking out from under his jacket as he scampered down the street – became meme fuel. One local pub even began selling stubby holders emblazoned with: “Monique, please DO NOT take this beer!”
The Liberals ran with the joke for the rest of the campaign.
But it wasn’t long before Hamer hit turbulence of her own. In the second week of the campaign I revealed she owned two investment properties – one in London and another in Canberra’s wealthiest suburb – despite publicly positioning herself as a renter who really understood the housing crisis.
It was a sloppy and obvious omission. Ryan’s social media whiz-kids, as well as satirical news sites, quickly generated memes about the generationally wealthy candidate cosplaying as a struggling renter.
Hamer never really directly addressed whether she had purposefully omitted her landlord status, instead trying to sidestep questions on it. “You can be renting and also own a property,” she said, citing conversations with locals about “the struggles of being a landlord” in Victoria dealing with land tax from the Allan government.
The Liberals hit back after Monique Ryan’s husband Peter Jordan was filmed removing one of Amelia Hamer’s campaign signs.
More of Hamer’s personal wealth was raked over after a Ryan campaign volunteer republished public court documents showing she was among the beneficiaries of a $20 million family trust — proof that dirt units come in all shapes and sizes.
Soon after, the predictable graffiti on corflutes turned nastier: “Capitalists will die”, “I get off on poor suffering”, and “Communism will win” were spray-painted across Hamer’s face.
At times, it felt like Hamer was under strict orders from Liberal party HQ to keep a low profile.
She skipped out on at least three community candidate forums. She often did media appearances flanked by her old boss, Senator Jane Hume, who stepped in to answer curlier questions, which reinforced a perception that she couldn’t speak for herself.
But when I finally managed to interview her on camera, Hamer held her own. She was confident and articulate. The leash should’ve been loosened far earlier. Even forums perceived as hostile would have been worth her fronting up to make her party’s case.
Ryan also had media stumbles. On ABC’s Insiders, she flubbed a question about disclosing influencer payments, later clarifying she misunderstood. She also blanked a Sky News reporter trying to spring a live interview at pre-polling.
Amelia Hamer and Monique Ryan at a Jewish community forum during the campaign.Credit: Justin McManus
Each side tried to paint the other’s campaign as being full of grey-haired volunteers. However, while retirees abounded, both camps had plenty of younger supporters — including millennial campaign managers. That’s a good sign for democracy, especially for the Liberals after their worst ever national defeat.
The campaign did veer into childishness at times. Ryan took aim at the Liberal Party over a satirical social media post that depicted her as a scowling action figure in Barbie-style packaging, under the label: “MONIQUE RYAN – VOTES WITH THE GREENS 77% OF THE TIME.”
But most of the negative campaigning seemed to come from Liberal HQ — and there was a noticeable disconnect between that and Hamer’s own conduct. I never once heard Hamer reference Ryan’s voting record or go below the belt in public. Her pitch was more about neglected local issues and the disadvantages of not having a major party MP. She appeared uncomfortable with the signage wars being waged in her name — a conflict that escalated all the way to the Supreme Court in the final days of the campaign.
A funding vehicle behind the teal independents — Climate 200 — also created headaches, including for Ryan in Kooyong. I revealed that residents had received calls and texts as part of a “push-polling” effort conducted on behalf of the group, just moments after Ryan had appeared on live TV describing push-polling as “not ideal”.
It’s unclear how effective the Liberal Party’s central line of attack on Ryan — that she voted with the Greens in Parliament 77 per cent of the time — really was. Rusted-on Liberal supporters lapped it up, but for those who had already backed Ryan, it was hardly a shock. After all, “teal” was always supposed to be a blend of blue and green.
Still, the claim clearly got under Ryan’s skin. She labelled the line as misinformation and hit back with a five-page pamphlet of her own, accusing the Liberals of spreading “egregious falsehoods”.
She pointed out she’d voted in favour of just 21 of 37 Greens motions — 56 per cent — slicing the same data in a different way.
The famous anti-Monique Ryan sign outside the Tower Hotel.Credit: Rachael Dexter
While Ryan focused on her role pressuring the government on big-ticket items — the 20 per cent cut to HECS debts, advocating for 60-day medicine prescriptions, and improving the National Anti-Corruption Commission — Hamer went hard on hyper-local promises. All up, she pledged $14 million worth.
The Easter long weekend was the catalyst for a truly chaotic week on the trail in Kooyong. It kicked off when footage surfaced of a local surgeon — Professor Greg Malham — inexplicably filming himself tearing down and stomping on Monique Ryan corflutes, all while cracking jokes about disposing of a dead body and leaving his full number plate in view.
The video was widely condemned — not just by Ryan and Hamer, but also by domestic violence campaigners. Malham later self-reported to the medical regulator and was placed under investigation.
Then came a candidates’ forum on refugee and asylum seeker policy, where an anti-lockdown activist attempted to hijack the discussion by ambushing Ryan with questions about her husband’s now-infamous sign theft. He filmed her reaction for social media, but was swiftly shut down by the event organiser, who was not having a bar of it.
But the week reached full chaos mode the following evening at what was meant to be a quiet event about public broadcasting at the Kew Library. Three protesters — whom Ryan later described as “right-wing nutbags” — gatecrashed the forum. I was the only journalist in the room to witness the bizarre scene unfold.
Tensions escalated when a female attendee, who was clearly distressed, tried to punch one of the agitators in the face.
Ryan herself waded in to break up the scuffle, physically intervening to stop things from boiling over before police arrived.
That chaotic week ended with a long-anticipated moment: Ryan and Hamer finally appeared on stage together for the first time in the campaign — at a Jewish community event under the watchful eye of Australian Federal Police. It was icy but civil.
In the final week of the campaign, fresh controversies emerged. The Age broke a story revealing that volunteers wearing Monique Ryan T-shirts had been filmed claiming a community organisation — one with historical links to the Chinese Communist Party’s foreign influence operations — had encouraged people to vote for the teal MP.
At the same time, our reporting revealed that Kooyong — along with other targeted electorates — had been flooded with campaign helpers from the Exclusive Brethren, a secretive Christian sect. These volunteers helped hand out how-to-vote cards and staff pre-poll booths, despite not being eligible to vote themselves.
Shadowy, right-wing third-party groups – Australians for Prosperity, Repeal the Teal, and Better Australia – flocked to pre-polling booths but mainly disappeared on election day itself. Their presence so rattled Ryan she launched a last-ditch fundraising campaign, trying to raise $20,000 for last-minute advertising to “cut through the noise, reach undecided voters, and tell them the truth”.
Then came the signage furore outside a Kew pre-polling booth: a spat between Boroondara council and the Liberal Party that went on for days, complete with accusations of political interference, given the council’s number of teal councillors. It came to a head when council officers swooped in to confiscate 14 Liberal A-frame signs, which they crammed into the back of the Boroondara-branded hatchback.
Council officers confiscated 14 signs at the Kew pre-poll voting booth.Credit: Rachael Dexter
Forty-eight hours out from election day, I found myself reporting from the Supreme Court, where eight lawyers — who were likely billing by the hour — argued over constitutional issues that would only apply for a single day. The Supreme Court ultimately sided with the Liberals, granting an injunction in their favour. The Liberals promptly celebrated their ideological win over the council, a fleeting victory.
Neo-Nazis also made an unwelcome appearance when Joel Davis, from the National Socialist Network, showed up wearing a T-shirt mimicking Liberal Party branding while distributing fake and antisemitic pamphlets to voters – horrifying everyone. Davis was accompanied by men in costume beards and fake Orthodox Jewish attire, brandishing pamphlets that had been sent to Jewish communities in neighbouring electorates claiming the Liberals planned to “give the Jews everything they want”.
Hamer wasn’t short of Liberal Party elder help on the campaign trail, receiving support from Liberals of all stripes, including former premier Jeff Kennett, who made a grand appearance at her election night party. Her predecessor, Josh Frydenberg, was also spotted in the dying days of the campaign, handing out pamphlets at pre-polling.
And then there was Opposition Leader Peter Dutton’s fleeting appearance at the Tower Hotel in Hawthorn East — a venue that became notorious for its vocal anti-Monique Ryan campaigning, complete with a massive anti-Ryan sign mounted on the pub (for which it would later be fined by the council).
Opposition Leader Peter Dutton with Amelia Hamer at the Tower Hotel in the final days of the campaign.Credit: James Brickwood
This marked Dutton’s second visit to Kooyong, and it was fleeting. In a rather telling moment, the man who had hoped to become prime minister was prevented from answering any questions by the media by his staff. It was a brief yet revealing moment into the national campaign strategy.
As in 2022, so much of the Liberal Party’s story is entwined with the story of Kooyong. The machinations of this electorate are emblematic of the existential wrestle the party faces — and what it stands for in a modern Australia.
It felt eerie that Petro Georgiou, a former member for Kooyong under John Howard and known to many as the “conscience of the Liberal Party”, died during the campaign. As our special writer Tony Wright penned at the time, “Georgiou was a voice for diversity and considered a champion of Indigenous Australians, underdogs and outsiders”.
It was Ryan who reminded a local forum that Georgiou’s values now feel worlds apart from the politics of today — in both major parties.
“Our politics has become meaner and smaller in the last two or three decades,” she said. “He was a man who demonstrated great personal integrity in the way that he fought for the rights of refugees.”
Hamer was adored by Liberal voters: I saw this first-hand at pre-polling. Whether it was the “Dutton factor” that ultimately held her back is up for debate. But the fact she came so close suggests green shoots for the party, if it can harness the kind of youth and energy Hamer brought to the campaign.
Josh Frydenberg and Amelia Hamer with a pre-poll voter in Malvern.Credit: Rachael Dexter
Even Hamer, though, admits you can’t fatten a pig on market day — “We talked a lot about getting Australia back on track, but the question is: back on track to what?” she said on 3AW last week, talking about her party’s slim policy offering.
There was fun and plenty of smiles to be had in the ’Yong — I want to give a shout-out to the campaign volunteers from all parties who let me spend time with them on the front line, complete with smiles, snacks and campaign intel. Greens candidate Jackie Carter and Labor’s Clive Crosby conducted themselves with humour and grace as enthusiastic participants in the whole spectacle despite it being a two-horse race.
After a false start and an early crow from the media and Ryan herself, Ryan did claim Kooyong for a second term. Not by as much as in 2022, but she got there with what looks like at least 1000 votes – and looks to be the sole teal independent in Victoria.
Monique Ryan claimed the seat of Kooyong on Monday afternoon.Credit: Eddie Jim
Her victory reaffirms Kooyong’s transformation from a blue-ribbon certainty to a teal-tinged battleground, where even a redistribution, a $14 million funding blitz and a strong candidate couldn’t wrest the seat back for the Liberals this time. One imagines the fight will only be tougher again in three years.
The experience of covering Kooyong felt like being strapped into a speeding, swerving golf buggy — on a ride where the stakes were local and national, trivial and existential, hilarious and deeply serious, often all at once.
Kooyong didn’t just give us a contest. It gave us a full-blown political melodrama. And I, for one, need a nap.