Portfolio power grab put David Hurley between a rock and a hard place

Governor-General David Hurley. Picture: Getty Images

One can only wonder what ­Governor-General David Hurley thought when Scott Morrison strode into Yarralumla and ­informed him that he wished to be sworn in for several portfolios, even though they were already ­assigned to other ministers.

Given no national security ­issues were at stake, he must have wondered what the hell was going on. Morrison’s demands were ­unprecedented and went way ­beyond what was expected from a prime minister.

While Morrison was not asking for anything illegal or ­improper, he was asking Hurley to go where no governor-general had gone before. Hurley’s mind must have swirled with doubts and further questions. No one in his position wants to be a trail­blazer in seeking ways to govern that are substantially different from those of the past.

Hurley well knew that he was embarking on a journey about which books would be written. This was not a footnote to history – this was a headline. He must have grasped the enormity of what he was about to do.

Morrison, who had always been seen as the boring Clark Kent type, was hurling off his day suit and whipping into his Superman garb.

He cloaked himself with enormous power and did so while keeping his actions secret from his inner circle of advisers, his cabinet colleagues, his party in general and, last but hopefully not least, from the Australian people.

On an occasion like this, he needed to think the consequences through clearly because if he got it wrong, he was a gonna.

His prime ministership would be remembered only for this one big cock-up. Morrison squeezed through this one by the skin of his teeth and never again attempted anything near this dangerous. It was as bold as it was foolhardy but when you have gotten away with it, you are only remembered for your wisdom and courage.

It was pretty risky for the ­Governor-General to sign up to this as well.

Since the intervention of John Kerr, the occupants of this high office have followed protocol religiously and forgone all thoughts of personal priorities.

No one has wanted to go down in history as a hated figure like Kerr.

Back in November 1975, it was certainly true that a big majority of the electorate wanted to get rid of Gough Whitlam, but few were prepared for the manner of his ­departure from The Lodge.

Malcolm Fraser felt the need to try to atone for his role in this sordid affair by wandering the world doing good deeds. Whether he succeeded is known only to himself and whichever god he worshipped.

It was interesting that when the crunch came with his dismissal, Whitlam calmly retreated to The Lodge and ate a steak for lunch. Had Paul Keating known what Whitlam did, he would have had the parliament pass a vote of no confidence in the governor-general and then requested the Queen to appoint somebody else. The warrior in Keating would never have allowed him to calmly accept the sacking.

Whitlam had seen through a golden age of reform that rendered the party fit to govern. He stood tall when threatened with expulsion by the “faceless men” and should always have a place in every Labor heart.

Fortune ­allowed me to come up in the era of great men such as Whitlam, Bob Hawke and Keating. After decades of being cast in the role of losers, Labor was finally in the winners’ circle.

Anthony Albanese is cast in a similar mould to his illustrious predecessors. He is university-­educated but knows what it is like to have nothing. He has enormous compassion and empathy for those who have not come out on top in our society.

He has a burning desire to ­reduce poverty and also to make real educational opportunities for the less fortunate. His zeal will not be pushed aside by half-measures and, God willing, he will be in the prime minister’s suite for a decade at least. Labor has found its new hero.

Whitlam knew he was not simply heading up a new Labor government. He knew he was making history.

When speaking of Fraser, Whitlam named him “Kerr’s cur”. Brilliant alliteration of course. But Whitlam’s final words that day have echoed through the decades: “Well may he say, God save the Queen, ­because nothing will save the ­governor-general.”