Gail Kelly: what next after Westpac?

She’s emerged from her “gap year” with a rallying cry for women in Vanuatu. There’s life after Westpac for this natural leader.

TWAM 1 August 2015

The men sing loudly as they stomp leathery feet along the dirt road of this remote island village in Vanuatu, scattering chickens, dogs and the odd pig to welcome visitors from the CARE Australia aid agency, here to launch a new water supply.

The tap delivering liquid gold is festooned with coconut fronds. Still struggling to mend homes and food gardens broken by Cyclone Pam, the villagers bring gifts of hobbled birds and woven handicrafts for the VIPs, led by the agency’s ambassador for women’s empowerment, Gail Kelly. After a bit of fiddling she secures a yellow, pink and green feather in her short platinum blonde hair. Even in these rough, remote parts she wears a string of pearls or ­diamond studs, a dash of glamour in the dust.

Seated on a pandanus mat beside CARE’s CEO, Julia Newton-Howes, Kelly ­listens intently to the ceremony for vignettes she will later ­harness to their advantage during a quiet word in the ear of Foreign Minister Julie Bishop or while rattling the fundraising can at a Melbourne lunch. The chiefs start off, in native pidgin. Then it’s the women’s turn. They bunch together behind a lady of singular poise who articulates what it means for them to have a voice for the first time in community decisions.

You can hear the seismic cultural rumble through this place of thatched huts, bare necessity and tribal customs, where marriages are arranged and domestic violence is rife. “Help one woman out of poverty and she’ll bring four with her” is the mantra Kelly often recites. She confers ­quietly with Newton-Howes on who should do the honours in reply. “I’d love to speak, but whatever you think,” Kelly offers. The CEO defers and then, as women often do, they share the stage. Newton-Howes is earnest, reserved; Kelly, a high-octane performer, moves with the handheld microphone towards the ­villagers, men on one side, women the other.

“What an absolute delight, an absolute ­honour to be with you here. The music, the dances, the sounds, the colour and cheerfulness… The sun is shining for us this morning. What a ­special day for us, one that we will remember forever,” she enthuses.

She commends the local spokeswoman with her favourite compliment: “You were very special. I want to come and shake your hand. Isn’t she amazing?” Kelly begs of the men, who nod. “The way you spoke about women making decisions. This is an excellent thing.” She turns again to the husbands and fathers. “Do the men agree?” They utter a collective burst of affirmation.

This is Kelly’s first public engagement since retiring in February as CEO of Westpac. Fresh from a three-month sojourn with her husband in their homeland of Africa – camping, rafting (dodging hippos), reading, catching up with old friends – she jokingly calls 2015 her “gap year”. Everyone is dying to know what comes next. A top job with the World Bank is rumoured. She enjoys international work but says Australia is home. Spoilt by her pick of corporate posts or advisory boards, she champions CARE because its focus on women in emerging market economies is dear to her heart. People matter to her. She likes them and they love her back. Hundreds of employees spilled into the foyer of the bank’s Sydney HQ to farewell her. During this Vanuatu trip, former staff and complete strangers approach her at the airport, the hotel.

Villagers in more remote corners of the Vanuatu archipelago do not know Kelly from Adam but just as she won’t forget them, they will remember her. How could they not?

Once the formalities finish, the circle of dancers resume. Kelly joins the throng, jumping up and down to the rhythmic sway, holding hands with women who have drawn her into their midst. The sun is shining. The water flows. The problems are immense but hope soars.

A close group of mentors, friends and ­family gathered at a Sydney harbourside restaurant in February to salute Kelly on the cusp of a new phase in a remarkable career. She rose from an entry-level job with a South African bank to become one of the most powerful women in the financial world. As Westpac CEO she stared down the GFC, struck a huge merger deal with St George Bank, doubled the company’s market capitalisation, returned solid gains to shareholders and steered record numbers of women into management roles. Her pediatrician husband of 37 years, Allan Kelly, who was always home first in the hard years when their four children kept school hours, penned a poem for the occasion. NSW Premier Mike Baird was there; so too was CARE’s Newton-Howes.

She and Kelly were introduced in 2010 at a lunch thrown by the then Governor-General Quentin Bryce, “a very special lady” who, Kelly recalls, often hosted an eclectic mix of people from industry, arts, non-government agencies, sporting and indigenous circles. “I loved going because you met such interesting people,” she says of these refreshing breaks from “boring ­business types”. Everyone at the table spoke about the role they played. “Julia spoke about CARE, the work it does in emerging economies, with women’s empowerment, education, ­disaster reduction preparation, life skills… and I thought, ‘This is fabulous, it touches all the hot spots for me’.”

Her ambassadorship was a coup for Newton- Howes, who runs a $50 million aid budget spent mostly in the Asia-Pacific, Middle East and Africa. They share an African connection. Newton-Howes, 57, was raised in Zimbabwe and left to complete a PhD in London. Kelly, 59, was born and educated in South Africa. But their styles are ­different. Newton-Howes wears ­Birkenstock sandals in the field; she has the precise, measured manner of a former bureaucrat who worked overseas for AusAID and the World Bank before joining CARE, the ­Australian arm of which was founded by ­Malcolm Fraser in 1987. Kelly sports pink ­Ferragamo sandals on the trip; she goes at a fast clip after decades in corporate life, yet is warm and personable.

“What I’ve learnt from Gail is leadership,” Newton-Howes says. “Her staff engagement was world’s best practice.” She describes how her son opened a Westpac bank account at a small Canberra branch and the female teller “was brimming over with how ­terrific Gail is. You can’t con frontline staff to say those things. She is such a great people person.”

Since their partnership began in 2011 they have travelled to projects in Africa and Cambodia. This week-long excursion through Vanuatu was planned before Cyclone Pam’s devastating assault in March, but the timing is fortuitous for the proof that resilience-building and disaster preparedness saves lives; that’s now embedded more deeply than ever in these communities as they grapple with recovery.

On that terrifying night of March 13 more than 300 villagers on the island of Tanna stayed safe, sandwiched inside the small, concrete learning centre until the worst of the storm had passed. Boxes of instant noodles are still stacked against one wall but classroom activities are back to normal. Young adult girls gather here during our visit to talk about the confidence they’ve gained through the aid group’s programs helping them set personal goals and honing self-reliance.

In front of strangers shyness descends until one speaks and slowly others follow. Morah Kapum, 22, is one of the last to her feet. “Before I did the training I was scared of people. I didn’t know how to express myself. I’m a woman…” she pauses, bows her head, overcome by tears that she wipes away with her fingers before pressing ahead. “I got sick and had to end my study and I thought I can not do anything else. But the training has given me the idea that I’m special and that I can do better. I have an idea of going back to school next year and creating my life skills for the future.”

Kelly leans in as we piece together Morah’s account of suffering some kind of breakdown, caught between the demands of a man who’d been promised her in an arranged marriage and her desire for the boyfriend she’d chosen freely. “Did he hurt you?” Kelly asks. Rates of sexual and physical violence against girls in this province are the highest in the country. Kelly’s ­shimmery salmon blouse and cream scarf sets her apart from village girls in T-shirts, thongs and loose skirts, yet she connects with them ­easily, asking questions, encouraging, praising.

Their testimony confirms the legacy of CARE’s focus on girls and women. Hope is as essential as food, shelter and water. A thank-you letter scrawled on red paper reveals the power of it. “When I got pregnant and leave school I thought it was all over and that it was the end of everything but within this one week of the Girls’ Life Skills Course I’d come to understand that it was not the end of everything, it’s just the beginning.” It seems such a small springboard but remember the arithmetic: one woman brings four along with her.

The next day we bounce across potholed roads to a community in the shadow of the ­volcano that rumbles menacingly at regular intervals, belching black clouds of smoke and gritty ash. Nightly sprays of lava lure tourists but there is not enough spinoff to counter ­poverty worsened by the cyclone. Locals blame an acid rain for killing crops.

They’ve been waiting for hours to stomp and chant us into the central hub where plastic chairs are set under an awning. Chickens and woven goods are placed in a pile at our feet; children sing sweetly before retreating into their mothers’ laps. Perhaps it’s the gloomy light of overcast skies or the volcano nearby but there’s an eerie aura to this place known for black magic beliefs. The bare-chested, grass-skirted men who burst into dance come from the John Frum cult, named after a US serviceman who long ago parachuted into their midst. Another bizarre cargo cult that thrives here worships Prince Philip.

We fan out after the formalities, talking to the women about crops and making do. The ambassador is impossible to miss as she moves through the dark-skinned faces with her statuesque height and crest of white. Perhaps a Gail Kelly cult will be spawned by a band of devotees.

Assisted by a translator she converses with a small huddle of women: there are several suckling babies, one of them whittling a toothpick expertly from a stick of wood; toothless grandmothers, and a younger woman called Lily Jack, who chatters urgently the moment Kelly presses them on the troubling levels of domestic violence. Lily left her husband two months ago to escape brutal, almost daily assaults. She up and went without the children, afraid for her life. “That takes a lot of courage,” Kelly insists, untangling the fraught complexity as best she can. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” she urges. Lily says she dreams of teaching one day.

I drift away to eavesdrop on the women ­surrounding Newton-Howes but notice Lily leading Kelly to a private space behind the ­community’s hub, where she lifts her T-shirt to reveal the knotted scars across her back from her husband’s beatings. Kelly is shaken by the sight.

The vast call on scarce resources is always ­present in these parts. Instead of surrendering to despair I hear Kelly’s problem-solving smarts kick in as she identifies this village as sorely in need of the CARE life skills lessons lifting up ­sisters elsewhere. We don’t talk much on the ride home, overwhelmed by the noise and jolting while navigating this third-world road, yet another speed bump in the path of progress.

Below the small plane is an atoll so small it floats like a jellyfish on the ocean. Home to 500 people facing drought on top of rising sea levels and cyclone damage, they’re stronger for two years of CARE’s intervention. Seed banks have diversified gardens; disaster preparedness is now second-nature; women hold positions in community forums. So when the master of ceremonies invites people to express thanks, the gratitude is fit for royalty: a pile of baskets, mats, fans, carved canoe paddles and chickens.

But what impresses us most is the spirit of this community on Aniwa Island. Martha Balkon wears a fluoro vest over her scarlet cotton dress to signify membership of the committee responsible for early warning systems. Before the hurricane hit she’d led the effort to fill bags with coral and sand strapping down roofs. “We were prepared. We knew we would be safe.”

Plucky and resourceful, she’s ready for an even bigger leadership role. The area’s administrator, Lennon Luken Nouka, better watch his back. He’s done the ­gender training, open to the idea of women’s voices being heard. Kelly compliments him. “We need more men like you across the world,” she says. “Are all the men like you?”

“A few,” he says.

“Women can only be properly empowered if men encourage them, otherwise there’s conflict and tension. Are any women in senior positions?” she asks.

He points to his business representative then drops this pearl: “When women talk and take part they think about the younger ones, the older people, the different vulnerable groups.”

“Excellent to hear,” she smiles. His stance becomes more remarkable when we learn this man was the most resistant initially to getting women involved in leadership positions.

That night in Port Vila, at the Australian High Commissioner’s residence overlooking the harbour, Kelly greets embassy officials, business owners and aid agency staff. She takes off her high heels for the comfort of the lawn until the evening is called to order. Whisking the microphone from its stand she abandons the wooden podium to wander at ease, excited by what she has observed in the field. “Let me tell you why I’m so proud to be the ambassador for women’s empowerment. It’s a lovely title, I like this title… it’s a title I want to keep,” she says.

“We all know to some extent somewhere along the line we’ve been treated as second-class citizens, to some extent somewhere along the line there have been barriers for women and girls, particularly in third world and emerging markets it’s harder for women… yet when they are empowered, communities are stronger, homes are healthier, more children go to school, there are fewer teenage pregnancies, lower levels of child mortality. You bring one woman out of poverty and she will bring four with her.”

Recognising the potency of personal anecdotes, she introduces the man she’d met in Aniwa hours earlier. “He said to me, ‘When women are involved women think about the children, the older people, the whole community, whereas the men think mostly for themselves. That’s women’s empowerment in a nutshell,” she says as laughter of recognition ripples through the crowd.

She steps through CARE’s commitment to self-reliance, singling out Newton-Howes, applauding program director Inga Mepham (“isn’t she pretty special”), thanking everyone here with a stake in recovery, promising them she’ll speak with minister Julie Bishop, “who I think is fantastic”, while persuading ­Australian tourists to visit and donors to give, “because the need is not yet done”. Her endorsement is of incalculable worth because of the passion she brings and the ­audiences she can reach. Soon after our return she’s pitching for donations at a fundraising lunch in Melbourne, keen to take CARE’s story into international forums. The only woman on the Group of 30, an elite body of global financiers, she’s also a member of the US Council on Foreign Relations.

The demanding pace of high-powered echelons suits a woman who readily admits her weakness is “impatience”. On our last days in Vanuatu the lulls and troughs of a Pacific island schedule are beginning to chafe. She tells Newton-Howes that if she were still CEO of Westpac she would have brought forward the departure times since the itinerary’s grunt work concluded early.

A former adviser who admires her immensely likens her to a thoroughbred and I can see why. “I’m fast, energetic, driven… I quickly absorb whatever the issues are and resolve them,” she tells me. “My family jokes, ‘there goes Mum again’. I’m always the first ready. If the meeting is at 9am I’ll be there at one minute to 9.”

Any spare moments of leisure are spent ­reading or watching cricket, a game she loves. Her late father, an early mentor, was a double Springbok. Rather than lounge by the pool one afternoon she hires fins and a mask to cruise in the lagoon until three sea snakes spoil the adventure. Sleep is another task kept in check, rising early, readying for what’s ahead.

In the hotel foyer on our last day, Kelly appears for the first time in jeans and thongs for a formal interview. She expands on the leadership philosophy that she began exploring in her 1986 MBA thesis and then spent decades finessing in the engine rooms of business, learning too from sporting captains such as Steve Waugh. At its heart is an emphasis on what she calls generosity of spirit. “It’s an unusual thing for a banking CEO to talk about but it goes to a fundamental belief in the power of people to make a difference, respect for individuals, genuinely wanting the best for each person at every level,” she says, warming to the topic. “It implies a capability to listen, to walk in others’ shoes; definitely not quick to judge, definitely not selfish, definitely not arrogant, definitely not all-knowing, it implies a self-awareness so that you can understand your impact on others,” she says. “There is nothing soft about this… It’s a very intensive style of leadership, a human style of leadership and it absolutely works.”

Hand in glove with generosity of spirit is choosing to respond in a positive way to bad news, disappointment or a curve ball. She often tells of driving home after a torrid day and deciding before she opened the front door to reset her internal thermostat so the black cloud would not follow her inside. “We all have dramas big and small and you have to choose how you respond… so I choose to walk in and say, ‘Hello everyone. How was your day?’” She calls it living in the moment.

Early in her career she went to her son’s school play and in the minute she dashed out to deal with a work problem his performance had been and gone. “That is an awful, awful memory for me,” she winces. “I still feel bad about it. Even as I sit here now I feel bad about it, which is ridiculous because as women we need to get over these bad feelings as well.”

When I suggest she publish a book on ­leadership she laughs. “Allan’s the writer.” Her next project is editing the journal and poems he wrote daily during their travels through Africa – 150 poems in 110 days, tapping them into his phone in the car, on a plane, while watching animals in a game park. She’ll present his ­“beautiful, emotional, clever commentary” and photos as a memento for family and friends.

“I feel, when I look back, one of the things I’m most proud of is my 37-year marriage. It’s strong and healthy. We started off as young ­people straight out of university.” She spotted him in a lecture theatre; he first noticed her in a tennis skirt taking photographs. He graduated as a social worker; she was a Latin and history teacher. Later they changed direction. He became a doctor. She joined a bank after ­waking up to how unhappy she was in the ­classroom. They started out in Zimbabwe then moved to South Africa, “a kaleidoscope of difference”, before finally shifting to Australia in 1997 with their four children – two girls, two boys, three of them ­triplets. She says they’ve grown together. “I feel immensely blessed by that… It’s the core, the backdrop; you have to prioritise the big things in your life.” So she plans to spend the balance of her “gap year” in the ­company of family.

During her last week as CEO she was walking through Brisbane airport when two men struck up a conversation warning her she’d suffer terrible relevance deprivation syndrome in the days and months ahead. She doubts that. “I think that’s something men experience. Not women. Our lives are so rich and full.”

She acknowledges she’ll miss the leadership, but right now she’s curbing her voracious appetite for challenge. “Taking on too much has always been a bit of a flaw for me so I’m fighting hard against that now.” Her in-tray overflows with proposals for speaking engagements, board roles, advisory groups, CEO roles. “I’m trying to be really disciplined. I really want to think carefully about shaping the next phase of life.”

In the meantime she’s deeply committed to CARE’s agenda for women and girls. Mention of politics prompts a tight-lipped “no interest whatsoever”. She’d win a landslide. When she visits the office of the Australian High Commission, staff hustle into the foyer for a photo with her. How many bank CEOs could we even name or recognise, let alone swamp with such affection?

She joins Newton-Howes to debrief staff in their cramped Port Vila office. Full of praise for their tireless efforts in harsh conditions, she applauds the role CARE played on the island of Aniwa, where communities knew how to batten down before the cyclone hit. “It’s not often that you can say that the work you do is life-saving. A lot of people trot that phrase off but you have actually saved lives and that is a profound thing.”

Her visit has lifted locals as well as CARE’s team but the congratulatory high is short. As we leave Vanuatu we learn a young local employed by CARE on the island of Tanna has been killed. Retaliation is swift in tribal culture and his clan torched tourist bungalows owned by relatives of the boy under suspicion. CARE’s Inga Mepham joins us at the airport, her phone glued to one ear as the drama unfolds. Her offsider is dispatched to comfort the family and monitor staff.

As Gail Kelly would say of this dedicated lot, they are “pretty special”. But then, so is she.

Kate Legge travelled to Vanuatu courtesy of CARE Australia