‘Politicians and diapers must be changed often, and for the same reason.’
The line is routinely attributed to Mark Twain. He almost certainly never said it, which is a pity: after one look at Canberra, he plainly should have.
Bob Katter has spent 33 years and seven months in federal Parliament. He has ceased to be an MP and become a heritage listing. He has given Australia hats, crocodiles, and excellent comic relief. What he has not given us is a reason why any citizen should occupy a federal seat for a third of a century.
Anthony Albanese has been there for 30 years and seven months, following the well-worn route from political staffer to party official, safe seat, and eventually the Lodge. After three decades in the building, he still discusses Australia’s problems as though somebody left them at reception. His career is the system operating exactly as designed.
The long-service rollcall reads less like an honour board than a warning label. Tanya Plibersek has served 28 years; Penny Wong 24; Richard Colbeck 23; and Chris Bowen and Tony Burke 22.
They have accumulated titles, portfolios, and an intimate knowledge of the parliamentary dining room. Harder to identify is any improvement in the lives of those who paid for it. The people promising to repair the country were in the building while it broke. They are not observers of modern Australia. They are among its authors.
By May 20, 2028, the latest practical date for a normal joint election, 65 of today’s 226 parliamentarians would have reached 12 years in their present Chamber if all remain: 44 Members and 21 Senators. Count combined service across both chambers and the number rises to 68 – almost 30 per cent of Parliament.
Australia should impose a 12-year lifetime limit across both chambers – 4 terms in the House, 2 terms in the Senate. And no moving from the House to the Senate and pretending the odometer has returned to zero. Twelve years is enough to learn the job, serve in cabinet and leave a mark. If someone cannot contribute in 12 years, a 13th is unlikely to awaken their hidden genius.
Ronald Reagan disagreed. In 1988 he said presidential term limits interfered with democratic rights: voters should elect whomever they want, as often as they want.
It is a serious argument from the darling of the Right and, in an open contest, he has a point. However, Australian elections do not occur in a vacuum. Preferential voting was introduced federally in 1918 partly to stop a split in the non-Labor vote handing seats to Labor. The Parliamentary Education Office acknowledges that it promoted the two-party system.
By the time polling day comes around, the meaningful contest in many safe seats has already occurred in a party preselection controlled by factions and remarkably few people. The incumbent arrives with taxpayer-funded staff, an electorate office, name recognition, and the party machine. The challenger arrives with a corflute and optimism.
To say voters can simply remove a career politician is like saying a young Australian can simply buy a house in Sydney. It is technically true and practically unserious.
Of course, term limits restrict choice at one election, but they preserve it over generations. Voters are entitled to decide that nobody should hold delegated power indefinitely. Constitutional democracy uses rules to stop temporary power becoming permanent possession.
More importantly, long tenure changes incentives. Someone expecting to remain for 30 years must spend much of that time protecting preselection, cultivating factions, avoiding risks and waiting for promotion. Policy becomes subordinate to career management.
Years ago, I suggested to a senior South Australian Liberal MP that pensioners work up to three days a week without losing benefits. The idea was to keep skilled tradesmen earning and passing their knowledge on, rather than punishing them for remaining useful. He replied: ‘The oldies are going to vote for us anyway, so why would we bother?’ That is permanent politics in one sentence: citizens become demographic livestock to manage.
For a start, a limit would attract people from outside politics who saw Parliament as service, not a lifetime meal ticket. It would open preselections, clear the factional queue and free final-term politicians to exercise judgment rather than fear the next preselection.
Term limits would also loosen the bureaucracy’s grip. The public service thrives when the same politicians absorb the same briefings and become house-trained by the same machine. The answer to an entrenched bureaucracy is not an equally entrenched Parliament, but outsiders willing to question the brief and reject the departmental shrug. Twelve years is long enough to understand the machinery without becoming part of it – and no politician need remain until archaeologists remove them.
Some say 12 years is not enough time to get to know a future Prime Minister. Bob Hawke disproved that before social media existed, reaching the Lodge less than three years after entering Parliament because Australia already knew him from his career outside it. Today, anyone with a phone can build a national profile before entering Canberra. Some of them, regrettably, do.
The proposal should be put to the people as a constitutional amendment. Parliament is unlikely to volunteer for a mass redundancy program, which may be the most compelling evidence that one is needed.
Public office is not personal property, a safe seat is not an inheritance, and Parliament is not a retirement village for former student politicians.
Politicians and diapers should be changed often. In Canberra, 12 years is already a generous definition of often.
After that, they can come home and try living in the country they created.
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