Inside the Liberals’ war rooms during the leadership coup
PART 2 | The full story of the coup to oust Malcolm Turnbull finally emerges.
The guests arrived, a handful dolled up but most appearing straight from work. One ageing former MP was in furs. But some looked as though they had just spent an hour with a psychopath, their faces fixed in a mask.
It was 7pm on Tuesday, August 21. Table lists were checked for a who’s who of Canberra. Which politician might sit with which lobbyist? Every seating plan was scrutinised for factional alliances. Who might show up, and who wouldn’t? Who was in Siberia? Were they counting numbers at the tables?
This was the Enid Lyons Gala Dinner at Old Parliament House to commemorate the Liberal Party’s first female MP. It was a joyful, civilised night while everything else in the Liberal universe was in chaos.
That morning, Malcolm Turnbull had spilled the Liberal leadership in a bid to flatten his enemies. The result had been victory for the prime minister, accompanied by the bitter codicil of a solid vote for Peter Dutton — the colleague Turnbull knew was stalking his leadership, now flushed out but with 35 votes behind him. A challenge had not been put down. It was out of bed and running.
The dinner could not compete with the gyrations back at Parliament House. The Monkey Pod group — a set of conservative MPs around Dutton, including deposed prime minister Tony Abbott — now had a clear shot at unseating Turnbull. They were named for the room in Parliament House where they met for a cheap Chinese lunch every Tuesday.
Within 48 hours the Monkey Pods would have an overhead projector hooked up to a laptop to run their spreadsheets on the numbers to fell Turnbull. Any pretence at secrecy was over. Amid their leaders was James McGrath, the Queensland senator who had defined his allegiances three years before, managing Turnbull’s campaign against Abbott. McGrath was on the other side now.
• PART 1: How Malcolm lit the fuse
But another force was awakening, too, and within 24 hours the die would be cast on a third pillar to enter the theatre of war that would shake Canberra to its teeth.
Scott Morrison could see the writing on the wall. By Wednesday morning Morrison knew he had two paths ahead. One meant standing back; the other meant preparing to join the fight for power. Morrison, a one-time party state director in NSW, knew the political strategy manual. He canvassed his options. He could count his numbers, then hold back to give Turnbull space to make his own decisions. Turnbull was wounded. If he stayed put, Morrison’s numbers would remain in his pocket. If Turnbull were felled or quit, Morrison wanted to be ready to roll his own campaign for the prime ministership.
He would make a decision on Wednesday night.
At lunchtime on the Wednesday, Turnbull had received a visit from Finance Minister Mathias Cormann, who had come to say he believed the prime minister had lost the support of the partyroom. Things had gotten out of hand; Turnbull’s momentum was gone. In Cormann’s judgment, Turnbull was finished.
Turnbull argued. He cited the constitutional issues now circling Dutton and fanned by Labor and the Turnbull camp that put question marks over the Home Affairs Minister’s stake in some childcare centres.
Turnbull would hold a press conference with Morrison and Cormann — both proclaiming their support, but with the Finance Minister wearing the look of a man facing the gallows.
Turnbull had publicly declared that the iron laws of arithmetic said he was the leader of the party. But the elastic laws of realpolitik were another equation altogether.
Cormann returned mid-afternoon with fellow ministers Mitch Fifield and Michaelia Cash — an immovable delegation that should have shown Turnbull finally that he was on the ropes. That night, Turnbull asked Cormann to return for another conversation, trying fruitlessly to turn the tables.
On Wednesday night the prime minister also turned to long-time ally Arthur Sinodinos, who had been at home in Sydney for a considerable time after a long illness. Sinodinos drove down the next morning. He would camp in Turnbull’s office in coming days, providing strategic advice and counselling.
Cormann, Cash and Fifield returned again on Thursday morning to advise Turnbull they would announce their decision to withdraw support and resign from cabinet within half an hour. This time they had brought the vial of poison. They would go public. It was all over. Turnbull tried and failed to reason yet again over the ramifications of the constitutional issues around Dutton, but it was like a whisper in a war zone. Morrison attended the meeting as a witness. After the three left, Morrison followed to attempt a final turnaround with Cormann. This failed too.
The short media appearance by the three brought uproar. They claimed heavy hearts, but they swung the axe hard. Turnbull should go, they said. Cormann declared Dutton to be the right person to lead the party to the next election.
NSW MP Alex Hawke’s mudmap, casually sketched out on a sheet of paper on Tuesday night to war-game how Turnbull’s foes might stage a coup, had unfolded like a pack of fortune-teller’s cards.
At 1pm on Thursday, Turnbull himself emerged to announce that a minority in the party was “supported by others outside”. This was taken to be a reference to commentators on Sky News and radio jocks from the majority Fairfax-owned 2GB stable, including Alan Jones and Ray Hadley. These “outsiders” had sought to bully and intimidate people into supporting a move against him, the prime minister said.
Turnbull had asked for and would await a letter with a majority of signatures — a petition said to be circulating already — and then would call a partyroom meeting.
On that Thursday morning, Turnbull had finally got his head around the fact that a successful new move to spill the leadership — coming at him like a freight train — would mean curtains for him. His prime ministership would be over.
But there would be comfort in Morrison or Julie Bishop, or both, standing; anyone but Dutton. However much Turnbull now despised Dutton, he was a totem — for Abbott. And Abbott could not be allowed victory.
From Wednesday night through Thursday and into the early hours, Morrison and his group were counting numbers. He would not challenge Turnbull — but he intended to be ready for a fight against Dutton if the prime minister pulled out.
The disaster of the week of August 21 had started really with the demise of Abbott in 2015 and the angry war in the party since. But early this year it had taken on a new shape in the form of Dutton — a potential challenger who had stood by Turnbull as a minister, until the ropes started to fray.
There was a souring in April when Dutton confirmed he had discussed cutting the rate of immigration — thus repudiating Turnbull’s claim to the contrary. In early July, the national energy guarantee, raised in cabinet, had cut many strands. On April 5 and 6, Dutton had warned that Australia was on track to a Shorten-led government; then, in answer to a question on radio, he said: “Of course I want to be prime minister. I think it’s best to be honest about that … if stars align and an opportunity comes up.”
It was hardly a Beethoven symphony for Turnbull.
But it was the Longman by-election that had brought everything undone. The Liberal vote crashed. Many excuses and much blame rained down: the LNP machine had underperformed, One Nation was now a safe retreat for angry Queenslanders, the LNP candidate was not good enough.
But in the end all that was remembered was Turnbull’s pledge that this was a contest of leadership at the top — between him and Bill Shorten. He had eyes only for the Opposition Leader.
As Dutton’s forces mustered support for a second leadership spill, a virtual war room formed swiftly around Morrison. Everyone was expecting another ballot as soon as a petition with enough names clobbered Turnbull. The cohort included MPs Stuart Robert, Hawke and Ben Morton, as well as Scott Briggs, the Morrison confidant and long-time party official who was also close to Turnbull. Briggs would become a go-between at times — trusted by both Morrison and Turnbull. They rang MPs through Wednesday afternoon, and then doubled down through Thursday and Thursday night. Morrison would not lose by leaving threads untended. Robert worked the corridors, in the patter of parliament. Christopher Pyne was constantly seen in and out of Morrison’s office.
Everyone wanted the fight over before MPs left Canberra for two weeks.
In Turnbull’s office, his principal private secretary, Sally Cray, together with Craig Laundy, ran numbers on a spreadsheet; they had an Excel document with all the names. Turnbull believed he had a firm handle on the numbers, and it was this thing that led him to label the whole thing madness.
What was becoming clear in the ranks of the moderates as well as the centre group around Morrison was that Bishop could pull significant votes. This had the potential to end in disaster in terms of the plan to block Dutton. What if Bishop lost a second ballot to Dutton? The risk for Morrison was that Bishop would split the vote.
For 24 hours the moderates considered what to do. Bishop was their preference. The counter-argument from Morrison’s people was that he had both moderates and conservatives in his column — he could pull people in from Dutton’s side on the Right. Bishop, however, would not pull in the right-wingers.
These were crazy games built around a popular deputy — how to stop her winning. A plan was hatched to shift the moderates’ votes directly to Morrison. Rather than moderates backing Bishop, they would bypass her and support Morrison in a bid to overwhelm Dutton with the numbers.
Their plan would be exposed later when WhatsApp messaging among a group of about 20 moderates was leaked to the ABC’s Barrie Cassidy. The group of MPs — tagged Friends for Stability — included Paul Fletcher, Kelly O’Dwyer, Marise Payne, Sarah Henderson, Jane Prentice, Anne Ruston, Simon Birmingham, Trent Zimmerman, Christopher Pyne and Lucy Gichuhi. The message was sent not long before the final vote on Friday.
“Cormann rumoured to be putting some WA votes behind Julie Bishop in round 1,” Fletcher wrote. “Be aware that this is a ruse trying to get her ahead of Morrison so he drops out & his votes go to Dutton. Despite our hearts tugging us to Julie we need to vote for Scott in round one.”
“Someone should tell Julie,” a member of the group responded.
“I have,” Pyne replied.
But according to numerous MPs close to Bishop and Turnbull, Pyne had not mentioned to Bishop that she would be abandoned by the moderates. There were no conversations, they say, no text messages. She was left high and dry.
At 1.40pm on the Thursday, conservative MP Andrew Hastie sent a staffer down to Officeworks to buy an overhead projector and an HDMI cable. They would set up the laptop and the projector in the Monkey Pod room to build an Excel spreadsheet for the final rundown to the expected challenge on Friday. In the words of one MP, they needed to have a shared reality of where things stood, not a constant flow of rumour and promises.
Turnbull had said he would call a partyroom meeting once he received the constitutional advice on Dutton’s eligibility and a petition with sufficient signatures. They had to know just where the numbers were.
Everyone who was with Dutton converged on the Monkey Pod room. They had a base of 35; they needed another seven or eight, and they had 24 hours. But the petition was a critical tactic for Turnbull in this fight. He could hold out until he received it. It also functioned as a delaying tactic, giving Morrison more time to organise his numbers. If there was one thing Turnbull intended, it was to prevent Dutton winning.
On the Thursday night, Ben Morton indicated he would sign the petition. The intention now was to get the drama over before Friday night. On Friday morning, in his first ever doorstop, Morton said he had signed and would vote for Morrison.
All the Morrison group had stayed up late, talking, phoning and planning. Briggs had been talking to Turnbull. If Morrison was to come through, it was important that Turnbull not throw some additional diversions into the situation. “Don’t do anything,” he was advised by several close to him.
Later, photographs of Cormann and Dutton out at dinner on Thursday night seemed to seal the suspicion that things had slipped up in the Dutton camp; that they had let things get away from them — or had been overconfident about numbers.
The real momentum for Morrison came with an unexpected thud. Fifield, who had joined the delegation to Turnbull, switched to back Morrison.
The groundswell prompted by these revelations started to break things Morrison’s way.
When the petition finally came in — brought by Dutton — it was almost an anticlimax. But it was followed by a rush of blood. Everyone in politics was watching Sky. The anchors, led by presenter David Speers, were all glued to their phones. “It was like watching them in their own lounge room on the phone,” one MP said later.
Turnbull had photocopies of the petition made to be handed to the whips. He would drag this out and hold everything up to the light. There would be no secrets about who was consigning his prime ministership to its grave.
The whips were sent off to check each name. Groans flowed through the media.
But the chief whip, Nola Marino, living the crisis, returned to her office with its dark timber and divided the work between her fellow whips. The phone calls started. They called every mobile phone, everyone on the list. The verifications took about 20 minutes: “Did you sign the petition?” “Yes.” Hang up. Next call.
Marino phoned the prime minister’s office with the news. The petition for a spill had the numbers. Turnbull called a partyroom meeting for 12.30pm and the whip took part. A new election for prime minister was called; there were three candidates.
The whips had four small timber ballot boxes. The ballots were counted into piles of 10 and counted three times.
Bishop, with only 11 votes — deserted by the sisterhood and the moderates — immediately resigned as deputy leader.
Morrison had won. It would be a new world, at least for as long as it took to take the first official photos. Then began the grind of uniting a divided house.
Turnbull, devastated, would resign from his seat of Wentworth and leave the country. He had noted as he left that he believed former prime ministers should leave parliament.
But he had left the party with a by-election and a one-seat majority. Within days, he would be tweeting and phoning colleagues from New York, trying to push for Dutton to be referred to the High Court.
If it took a constitutional crisis on top of a by-election, then Turnbull was willing. He had been destroyed. And like his nemesis Abbott, he wasn’t prepared to forgive or forget.
