Michael Leunig was my father. He didn’t want a state funeral, but he didn’t deserve to be ignored

The Victorian government, in its solemn deliberation, has turned away from the notion of a state funeral for my father, Michael Leunig. In every conceivable form, their hand of support has been withdrawn. They have been unwilling to honour or simply acknowledge a soul whose creative vision etched itself deeply into the heart of Melbourne and beyond.

After his death, St Paul’s Cathedral generously offered their services for a memorial in his honour. Along with the church, a family friend who had experience organising state funerals approached the government, who rejected any involvement. In truth, we weren’t particularly interested in the idea of a state funeral, and Michael himself probably wouldn’t have cared. I often heard his scepticism about the legitimacy of such events. But we were surprised by the lack of public recognition of Michael’s death on the government’s part.

Sunny Leunig (right), with his brother Gus and father, Michael Leunig.Credit: Helga Salwe

Maybe it was simply a budgetary decision. Considering the state’s economic woes, not wanting to spend money on a state funeral is fine by me. But the lack of public acknowledgement of his death is a little harder to grasp. What troubles me is a suspicion that these decisions are determined by the cold calculus of a bureaucratic assessment of risk. A world increasingly governed by optics – an epistemic curse that reverberates through the very soul of culture and society.

For more than 55 years, Michael’s cartoons, poems and words appeared regularly in newspapers, magazines, on television, in church services and, of course, lived on the front of many fridges in households across Australia. He was declared a national living treasure in 1999 and his work was a feature of the opening ceremony of the 2006 Commonwealth Games. There have been Leunig trams, retrospectives at the National Gallery of Victoria, performances at Hamer Hall with collaborations from the Australian Chamber Orchestra, Neil Finn and Peter Garrett. There is even a rare tree planted in his honour at the Royal Botanic Gardens. I could go on, but my point is this: his work has been part of Australian culture long before today’s state ministers were out of nappies. The lasting impact of his art has transcended politics, class and religion for decades. His work meant a great deal to a great many people. It seems appropriate that his contribution to Australian culture be recognised.

In recent years, my father had become a controversial figure. His drawings, published by The Age, offended many. His relationship with The Age had been strained for some years before he was let go last August. He was pro-Palestine, accused of hating mothers, critical of government-mandated vaccines and COVID-19 lockdowns, and once drew an esoteric yet questionable marriage equality cartoon. (He also drew a pro-marriage equality cartoon when Labor was against it.) Unfortunately, what came with that were the death threats and vitriol directed not only towards Michael, but anyone connected to him, which is often the case for those in public life.

We all need to be questioned, and he shouldn’t be immune to public scrutiny and criticism. Like any of us, Michael had blind spots, and I debated him on a fair few of them. We had a relationship that was both loving and difficult. I asked him if this was really what he wanted to be remembered for.

He was critical of the current Victorian state government just as he was scathing of the Kennett government in the ’90s. Yet Jeff Kennett was one of the first politicians to publicly pay tribute to Michael, calling his passing “terribly sad”, and describing him as “a wonderful interpreter of Australian life”.

Towards the end of his life, Michael certainly strayed from the progressive hymn sheet that many follow. He became persona non grata to a large portion of the media class, ultimately embodying the symbol of the old male Boomer – a moniker a few rungs lower than a serial killer these days.

There have been some wild claims made about my father on social media, and there is great attention to be won in taking down a so-called sacred cow. But the peril of social media lies not in the telling of stories, but in the ease with which they are received as gospel.

A claim, unverified and unchallenged, spreads like wildfire. The ancient virtue of discernment that was once tempered by patience and guided by reason has been replaced by the thrill of condemnation wrapped in moral righteousness.

It’s frightening to see, I suspect, this culture, this influence of social media discourse, seep into the government, who now succumb to the fear of dissent, choosing that bloody awful soulless position of optics—safe, malleable, and risk-free. Yet in forsaking risk, they forsake truth itself, denying the very courage needed to lead authentically. When the optics become more critical than substance, the pursuit of truth is no longer an ethical imperative but an inconvenient obstacle.

It’s fine if the state government don’t want to acknowledge the death of quite a significant Melbourne artist, that’s their decision. But the way we live, express ourselves and make art must never be governed by the loudest voices on social media or the measured gaze of government bureaucratic authority. Then again - this isn’t for me to decide - I’ll let history do that.

The bond between a father and son can be a storm of emotions – terrifying, beautiful, sad and profound, often all at the same time, government recognition or not. It was nice to hold my father’s hand at the end. The very hand that, by all appearances, left an indelible mark on our culture.

Sunny Leunig is a director and musician based in Melbourne.

A public memorial celebrating the life of Michael Leunig will be held at St Paul’s Cathedral, corner of Flinders and Swanston Streets, on Thursday, January 30, at 2pm.

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